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EECOLLECTIONS OF 
ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 




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EECOLLECTIONS OF 

ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

DAUGHTER OF THE PATHFINDER 
GENERAL JOHN C. FREMONT AND 
JESSIE BENTON FREMONT HIS WIFE 



COMPILED BY 

I. T. MARTIN 



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FREDERICK H. HITCHCOCK 

NEW YOEK MCMXII 



Copyright, 1912, 
By I. T. Mabtin 



Q.Q.AS12rj72 



CONTENTS 

The March of Progress 9 

Across the Isthmus of Panama in Forty- 
Nine 11 

Early Days in California 25 

Memories of the Court of Victoria ... 35 

Paris Scenes 49 

The Winter of Fifty-Three and 'Four . 61 
The Campaign of Fifty-Six .... 75 

Bear Valley 83 

Yosemite and Mount Bullion 101 

Black Point and War Days 117 

From Yuma to Prescott in Army Ambu- 
lances 135 

Three Years in Prescott 153 

The Year at Tucson 165 

Finis 179 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Elizabeth Benton Fremont . Frontispiece v 

Mrs. Fremont from a miniature painted 
in 1845, carried from Washington to 
California by Kit Carson and there 
delivered to General Fremont ... 64 

Buffalo escaping from a prairie fire, 
during the days of Fremont ^s explor- 
ations 68 

The Fremont cottage in Bear Valley in 
1858 84 

Miss Fremont and ^' Chiquita'' . . . 90 

John C. Fremont after a photograph 
taken a few weeks before his death . 120 

Headquarters of General Fremont at 
Santa Barbara 146 

The Los Angeles home given to Mrs. 
Fremont 182 



THE MAECH OF PROGRESS 

THERE is an old English adage which 
says, '* That the child that is bom on a 
Thursday, has far to go,'' and I think most 
of my long life has been spent in verifying 
its truth. 

When I was less than six months old, I was 
traveling with members of my Grandfather 
Benton's family, in a stage coach along what 
was then called the National Turnpike, — the 
road that in those days led from Washington 
to St. Louis. The stage turned turtle, rolled 
down an embankment and when the rescued 
grown people of the party regained their 
composure, they expected to find me fatally 
hurt from the fall. 

When the stage driver picked me up out 
of the debris, however, I smiled in his face, 
and in handing me over to my grandfather, 
the driver said: 

*^ Senator, this baby will make a good 
traveler. ' ' 

Before I had reached the age of nine years, 

when most children were then still in the 

nursery, I had been taken twice to California, 

via the Isthmus of Darien, as Panama was 

[9] 



THE MABCH OF PROGRESS 

then called, and had also made an ocean 
voyage to England. 

When in London, a member of the Travel- 
er's Club said to my father: ^^ Your little 
girl should be presented for membership 
in our Club, for she has already traveled 
half again the number of miles necessary to 
render her eligible.'' 

Since then, I have done considerable 
traveling, a great deal of it in our own 
country, and long enough ago to make the 
modes of travel then and now, stand out in 
striking contrast. 

My first trip across Panama in '49, was 
made by boat and mules, and the journey 
consumed six wearisome days; my last trip 
in '58, by rail, consumed three hours and a 
half, so wonderful had been the march of 
progress in the new country. 



[10] 



ACROSS THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA 
IN FORTY-NINE 

WITH fast trains now flying daily from 
coast to coast, and with the Panama 
Canal nearing completion, it is hard to rea- 
lize what a trip meant, from New York to Cal- 
ifornia, in 1849. The memories of such a trip 
read like a romance of the long ago, in the 
light of present realities. 

I crossed the Isthmus with my mother in 
those days, and though then but a small child, 
my memory of the event stands out clear and 
distinct, too vivid a picture for time to 
efface. 

We left New York in March of 1849, and 
the first sight of palm trees and tropical 
growth came to view as the steamer neared 
Chagres. The little tender on which the pas- 
sengers and mails were landed, was as small 
as a craft could well be and yet hold an en- 
gine, for it was planned to go as high as pos- 
sible up the Chagres River. 

It seemed like stepping down upon a toy, 
and after eight miles, it had to be abandoned 
for little dug-out canoes, the shallows and 

[11] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

obstructions of every kind making further 
travel in the tiny steamboat impossible. 

The canoes were manned by crews of 
naked, screaming, barbarous negroes and 
Indians, who occasionally murdered the pas- 
sengers if antagonized or aroused. 

We were spared the terrors of the dug-out 
canoes, for through the courtesy of Mr. 
"William Aspinwall, owner of the Pacific Mail 
Steamers and the then projected Panama 
Eailroad, we were permitted to travel in the 
company *s whale boat, manned by a respons- 
ible crew. 

Most of the travelers of those days were 
compelled to take their chances of sleeping on 
the ground or in the huts of the Indians, and 
all too often contracted fevers from the night 
air and the tropical mists. The Company 
however, provided tents with canvas floors 
and walls, fitted out with clean linen cots, for 
the use of the crew and guests, the tents a 
protection not only against wild animals, but 
against the deadly dews that were so heavy 
that they demanded the further protection of 
a fly tent. The climate was so severe on 
Americans that any one sleeping on shore for 
even one night for*feited all life insurance, a 
rule made necessary for the protection of the 
insurance companies, so heavy was the toll 
of the Grim Eeaper on that soil. 
[12] 



ACEOSS THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA IN FORTY-NINE 

It took a long time to make those thirty 
miles of river travel in '49, for the boats 
were only poled along against the stiff cur- 
rent of the mountain river, but though a few 
miles were made each day, each hour was 
filled with thrilling interest and novelty. 
Sometimes for nearly a mile, the boat would 
go along gently, sometimes out in the stream, 
again close to the bank, under the over-arch- 
ing branches of trees bent into the water 
and so matted by masses of flowering creep- 
ers that it seemed to glide along an aisle of 
flowers, through a great conservatory. 

There I first saw the white and scarlet 
varieties of the passion-flower, as well as 
other flowers both brilliant and fragrant, for 
which I know no name. 

At times the boat would have to put out 
into the stream and away from the shade ; the 
heat was intense, particularly hard for the 
Americans to endure. Now and then the 
boat would be drawn to the shore where the 
passengers were compelled to alight, while 
the men in charge of the little boat would 
clear a pathway through the dense growth, 
using their long knives as scythes. The In- 
dians and Jamaica negroes of which the crew 
was composed, enjoyed the water to the full, 
jumping in and out of the boat like so many 
[13] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

porpoises, giving a shove when it seemed 
easier thus to make progress. 

With all the advantages of the whale boat, 
however, it took three days to reach Gorgona, 
the boat making but a few miles each day, 
and there we again deserted the boat for 
mules, which carried the party across the 
mountain. 

When we reached Gorgona, there were 
hundreds of people camped out on the hill- 
slopes, living under shelter that masquer- 
aded as tents, patiently awaiting an oppor- 
tunity of leaving for Panama. There were 
many women and babies in the group, and the 
uncertainty of everything was making them 
ill; loss of hope brings loss of strength; they 
were all living on salt provisions, not fit for 
the hot unhealthy climate, and Death stalked 
among them like a pestilence. 

One of the passengers fell prostrate from 
sun stroke and was obliged to return in the 
canoes to take the next steamer back to the 
United States. 

The Alcalde of the village had invited us 
with some other Americans to a breakfast; 
the chief dish, a baked monkey, looking for 
all the world like a child burned to death! 
The iguana or large lizard, so common along 
the river, was another of the delicacies 
served at that memorable meal. 
[14] 



ACROSS THE ISTHMUS OP PANAMA IN FOBTY-NINH 

The house of the Alcalde was of great in- 
terest to us, with its thatched roof on poles 
and wattled sides, looking like a magnified 
vegetable crate more than a human habita- 
tion. Unbleached sheeting had been tacked 
over the place in honor of the Americans, 
and the walls were adorned with four litho- 
graphs — the ** Three Marys," garbed at 
least as the originals should be, even though 
the pictures were the merest daubs. The 
fourth picture was wonderful to behold, and 
depicted still another Mary — a black-haired, 
red cheeked, staring young woman in a flam- 
ing red dress and ermine tippets, a pink rose 
in her hand, and underneath, the inscription : 

MARY, 

WIFE OF JAMES K. POLK, 

PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES ! 

The distance from Gorgona to Panama was 
about twenty-one miles, but in those days it 
was distance, not a road. There was only a 
mule track connecting the two places — more 
of a trough than a track — with mule stair- 
cases and occasional steps of at least four 
feet, and only wide enough to permit the 
passage of a single animal. The self-same 
trail that had been followed since the early 
days of the Spanish Conquest, and this trail 
followed the face of the country as it pre- 
[15] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

sented itself — straight up the sides of the 
steepest heights to the summit, then straight 
down again to the base. 

There were no bridges across the streams, 
which were forded at times or when the 
stream was narrow, the mules gathered their 
legs under them and jumped across. 

When they decided to leap, it was well 
enough for the rider who could retain his 
seat ; if not, he fell into the water, and many a 
traveler in this way secured broken bones, a 
collection of choice bruises and a thorough 
wetting. 

The most advanced baggage smasher of 
to-day cannot hope to compare with the bag- 
gage smasher in that day of the Isthmus 
transfer. Indians, mules and cows were 
pressed into service to ha:gdle the baggage 
which usually consisted of extra large trunks, 
made necessary by the long journey. 

The slender Indians, bending under the 
weight of a trunk carried between them on 
poles, and the thin ill-fed little mules, which 
almost disappeared under the load of trunks, 
valises and bags, both had a way of getting 
rid of their load when tired of it, by merely 
tossing it aside. 

There were very narrow defiles worn 
through the rocks, where the passengers 
could go through only in single file, even the 
[16] 



ACKOSS THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA IN FORTY-NINE 

men riding sidewise, for lack of room to sit 
the usual way, and at one of these narrow 
defiles our party came upon a cow, loaded 
with trunks and bags. She was measuring 
her wide horns against the narrow entrance, 
as her load prevented her twisting through. 
There we waited until some solution of the 
difficulty presented itself, which the cow 
finally settled by rubbing the load off her 
back, leaving the debris of the broken trunks 
and smashed baggage as she proudly con- 
tinued her journey, unhampered. 

Two days of similar experiences were en- 
countered before Panama was reached in 
April, 1849. Only one steamship had preced- 
ed the one upon which we had traveled, and 
its passengers had been taken up the coast to 
San Francisco, on *^ The California,'' the 
first of the line sent round the Horn. That 
steamer was to have returned and taken the 
passengers from Panama. It did not return, 
however, all the crew having deserted to go 
to the mines, and none could be induced to 
take their places. The madness of the gold 
fever was on and seemed to have taken hold 
of every one in California. We were de- 
tained at Panama for seven long weeks, until 
^* The Panama,'' the second steamship, ar- 
rived from New York. 

Several thousand Americans were cooped 
[17] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

up in Panama, none of them prepared for 
detention, and the suffering was great. An- 
other monthly Isthmus party brought in the 
mail, in many cases containing money sadly 
needed by so many. But no one was author- 
ized to touch it, since it was made up for San 
Francisco, and detained like the Americans. 

The Consul, a foreigner, would not inter- 
fere, but the travelers met the emergency 
in the usual Yankee fashion. A public meet- 
ing was called, and a committee of twelve 
chosen from among the American commis- 
sioners, custom house officers and persons of 
personal and political distinction, who were 
authorized to open the mail forthwith and 
distribute it. 

Our stay in Panama was not at all one- 
sided, and had its pleasant aspects, as well 
as the anxiety of the delay. We spent the 
time at the home of Madame Arce, a home 
which I remember for its wonderful red til- 
ing throughout. The bath room at this house 
was a real novelty and luxury, and might be 
termed the primitive shower bath! The 
room was apart from the house proper, red 
tiled like the house, and boasted of neither 
windows, shutters or shades — just open 
squares to let in the light and air ! The floor 
was built on a slant, and was deluged with 
water once or twice daily, to keep the place 
[18] 



ACEOSS THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA IN FORTY-NINE 

cool. The native women ^^ bath attendants," 
always young and always slender, daily filled 
the row of jars that were part of the bath 
fixtures, with cool water. These jars ranged 
in size from the small jar not much larger 
than an ordinary vase, to those at least four 
feet high. 

When the bather entered the bath room, 
the small jar of water was first poured over 
her head by the attendant, followed by 
pouring from the jars of increasing size, 
imtil the contents of the largest jar had 
been thus emptied. This was necessary 
as the tropical heat made one shudder at 
the first dash of water, and the smaller 
quantity prepared one for the chill of 
the final deluge. The bather dried herself 
in the sun — towels were unheard of there — 
and if the bather was a child, she varied the 
monotony of the drying process and kept 
warm by chasing the large iguanas, which 
were plentiful, about the place. 

The bath room was used at different times 
of the day by different people, the men hav- 
ing certain hours, the women other hours, 
and the children in groups, in their own turn. 

A gallery surrounded the house of Madame 
Arce and overlooked the square occupied by 
the Catholic Cathedral and Convent. I re- 
call among the delights of a happy child- 
[19] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

hood, many incidents connected with the stay 
in the Arce home, not the least of them, the 
joy with which I watched from this gallery, 
the young novices of the convent run up the 
belfry tower to see who could first reach the 
top and ring out the joyous peal of the An- 
gelus Bell. 

The nuns of the convent became attached 
to us and were wont to send us the most de 
lightful dulces, made from the native fruits 
and flowers and held together with native 
sugar. The memory of their delightful taste 
is still present ! 

California is now beginning to introduce a 
novel way of serving oranges — just as they 
were served in the home of Madame Arce, so 
many years ago. The oranges are peeled to 
the pulp, stabbed with silver forks, piled 
high on delicate china platters, and served 
with tiny squares of bread, making a delicious 
lunch. 

A ring-tail monkey was the pet of the Arce 
household. I had been taught by my old 
*' mammy '^ that monkeys held the souls of 
bad people and was told when passing one 
with a hand organ, always to turn aside my 
head, as I gave the unfortunate creature a 
penny. Consequently, I did not make friends 
with the monkey at Panama and the little 
[30] 



ACROSS THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA IN FORTY-NINE 

animal seemed to realize that I was afraid 
of him. 

One day he was swinging from one of the 
many '^ Dutch Doors," of the house, his 
chain longer than usual, when he sprung at 
me, wound his tail around my neck and chat- 
tered in fiendish glee in my face, much to my 
everlasting fright and dismay. My frantic 
screams brought assistance, but I still re- 
member the cold, smooth, snake like feeling 
of that tail. 

Madame Arce would take no remuneration 
from us, so when we were finally ready to 
embark for California, my mother presented 
her with an exquisitely beautiful tortoise 
shell box, filled with gold pieces, which were 
to be divided among the pet charities of the 
hostess, the good nuns of the neighboring 
convent to receive a portion, in recognition of 
the delightful dulces with which they had 
favored us. 

While at Panama, I witnessed a scene 
which remains bright in my memory. One 
morning from beneath the balcony window, 
there came the sound of a voice filled with 
genuine sorrow and grief. A young Indian, 
carrying a child of about three years, was 
walking beneath the shade, filling the air 
with lamentations. Mother called to him to 
bring the child into the house, that it was 
[21] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

very ill, and the Indian interrupted his wail- 
ing long enough to cry out, in his own tongue : 

^^ It is dying now!'' 

The child was brought into the house in 
the agonies of death, and lived but a little 
while. 

The next morning the funeral procession 
of the child passed the house, illustrating the 
theory that the death of an infant is a cause 
for thankfulness. The little one, robed in 
white, with ruffles and lace and ribbons and 
wreaths of flowers, lay upon an open bier, 
carried by men who were singing loudly and 
lustily. The father followed, his face hag- 
gard and his wistful eyes riveted upon the 
babe — but singing I 

Women in their holiday attire followed the 
procession, violins and guitars played quick, 
cheerful music, and but for the presence of 
the dead child, it would be hard to realize that 
it was not a wedding festivity. 

When we realize our utter helplessness to 
shield those we love from the chances of life, 
can we say that these people are wrong in 
their belief? 

The failure of the steamers to arrive at 
Panama had told upon everyone; to the 
Americans it was a realization of the despond- 
ency of a shipwrecked people. Those who 
had through tickets to California still hoped 
[22] 



ACKOSS THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA IN FORTY-NINE 

against hope, and finally the two steamers 
came into port simultaneously, one from 
California and the other from around the 
Horn, both reaching Panama in the night 
and within an hour of each other. Their guns 
were mistaken for a second fire from the first 
steamer, and great was the joy of the people 
when they beheld the two steamers ready to 
load the passengers and take them to the 
** Promised Land.'* 

Everyone had been listening, longing and 
waiting for the sound of those guns for 
weeks, and though the welcome sound broke 
the stillness of a moonlight night, before 
two o'clock in the morning all the Americans 
had gathered and crowded to the ramparts. 

The Panama, the steamer that had come 
around the Horn, was in good condition, 
while the sister ship was in disorder and 
discomfort, the captain having died from 
fever. We sailed on the Panama, a steamer 
with accommodations for eighty, but carry- 
ing on that eventful trip more than four hun- 
dred passengers. 

The deck was parceled out into sleeping 
quarters and mother and I slept under the 
folds of an American flag, which was thrown 
across the spanker boom to form a tent. We 
shared this flag tent with a Mrs. Grey and 
enjoyed the delights of sleeping in the open 
[23] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

on the placid waters of the Pacific. The re- 
mainder of the journey was devoid of hard- 
ship; there were many charming people on 
board and one of the party, Major Derby — 
'* John Phoenix '^ — gave way to his wildest 
fun and spirits, and managed the theatricals 
that were acted on deck each evening, in a 
way that would have made the fortune of a 
theatrical manager. 

Life indeed seemed bright and full of 
happy possibilities as we entered the harbor 
of the ^ ^ Golden Gate, ' ' and finally set foot in 
the country where fortune awaited those who 
had a '^ stomach for a fight,'' as my Grand- 
father Benton put it — and most of the pio- 
neers of a rugged fortune never doffed their 
fighting armor. There was a test for ours at 
once, as our landing was made by our being 
carried through the surf by the sailors. 

A few low houses and many makeshift 
tents covered the base of some of the wind- 
swept, treeless hills, over which rolled the 
chilling June fog of San Francisco. Ships of 
every description were swinging with the 
tide, deserted by crew and passengers, in 
search of Aladdin's Lamp, with which they 
dreamed of conquering the Gold Fields. 



[24] 



EARLY DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 

/^N the rough journey to the coast, my 
^-^ mother's health had been seriously im- 
paired by haemorrhages of the lungs, but the 
delightful climate of California soon brought 
back her health, as my father was ever cer- 
tain that it would. 

When we reached California in 1849, my 
mother was the proud possessor of the only 
carriage in the territory. It was a six seated 
surrey built for her in New Jersey and sent 
around the Horn. It was fitted with every 
convenience then known to carriage builders, 
designed with an eye to render still more 
agreeable the delightful open air life in Cali- 
fornia. 

The carriage contrasted wonderfully with 
the local carreta, with their heavy wooden 
wheels, drawn by cumbersome oxen. In fact, 
it was quite as much of a luxurious contrast 
as is the modern touring car of today to that 
surrey — another link in the chain in the 
evolution of open air travel. 

We lived a nomadic life at first, driving 
back and forth between San Jose, Monterey 
[26] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

and San Francisco, very rarely sleeping even 
for one night under a roof. My mother had 
the cushions drawn together in the surrey so 
as to form a mattress, while I slept in the 
boot — the apron drawn up over me when we 
were close enough to the sea for the chilling 
night fogs to roll in with the misty breezes. 
My father and the other men of the party 
slept in the open on their blankets, or in ham- 
mocks when trees were near enough for them 
to be hung. 

Often during the day time, we would stop 
for a while at one or another of the numerous 
Spanish ranches, where we were always 
made welcome by both men and women, all 
bitterness of the late war forgotten. The 
women took an especial delight in exhibiting 
their babies, talking clothes, (as women ever 
have a way of doing) and asking myriad 
questions about housekeeping, glad to get 
even a glimpse of life in the ^^ states,*' from 
one so recently ** out,'' as was my mother. 

In those days large families were the rule, 
not the exception, and twenty children in a 
family not at all uncommon. I remember one 
lady telling my mother that she had twenty- 
four children, and I can still see her pleasant 
smile at my mother's astonishment. The 
mother of that numerous family was a tall, 
stately matron with a wealth of snow white 
[86] 



EABLY DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 

hair, and an ease of movement that bespoke 
her perfect health. I was delighted at hear- 
ing of such a large family, for my favorite 
playmate in Washington was one of twelve 
children, and I could only dream of the unal- 
loyed happiness of having twice that many 
under one roof I 

When my father had to go up into the 
mountains, we made our home at Monterey, 
in a large section of a house owned by the 
Castro family. It was a fine old adobe built 
in the usual fashion, around three sides of a 
court, which made a fine play-ground for 
Modesta Castro and myself. Here we two 
built a quaint baby house out of a big rock, so 
soft that with kitchen knives, we dug rooms 
for the small dolls, the little Spaniard learn- 
ing English, and I Spanish while at play. 

We had a worthy English woman from 
Sydney, a Mrs. Macavoy, who kept house for 
us, my mother's yedra poisoned feet (made 
still more painful by the heroic medicinal 
treatment of those days) making it hard for 
her to move about for many months. During 
this period, the healthy well-kept two year old 
baby of Mrs. Macavoy made a charming little 
live doll for me to play with — the lad since 
risen to distinction in the northern part of the 
state, where for many years, he was sheriff of 
his county. 

[27] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

The splendid riding of the Californians, 
who passed by our windows as they drove in 
the wild cattle to be slaughtered, was a real 
delight to us, especially after my mother in- 
duced them to ride out of sight before they 
began the killing. 

All the journeys of my father throughout 
the state were made on &Jie California horses, 
some presented to him by a cousin of the 
famous Spanish General Andreads Pico. I 
may be pardoned for quoting from Jeremiah 
Lynches recent book, ** A Senator of the 
Fifties,*' the description of one of my 
father's long rides — ^which was worthy of 
note. 

'^ Only a year prior to the gold discovery, 
while the land yet nestled in the lap of 
oblivion, Colonel Fremont, Commander of 
Volunteers and the Jason of California, was 
hastily summoned from Los Angeles to Mon- 
terey. Leaving the former place at early 
dawn with two companions, he rode one hun- 
dred and twenty-five miles before halting 
for the night. They had nine horses as a 
caballada, driving six ahead of them running 
loose on the trail, and changing every twenty 
miles. The second day they made a hundred 
and thirty-five miles. On the third day they 
did not start until eleven o 'clock, yet traveled 
seventy miles, and on the fourth day they 
[28] 



EARLY DAYS IN CALIFOENIA 

dashed into Monterey at three o 'clock, having 
ridden ninety miles since morning, and four 
hundred and twenty miles in four days. Fre- 
mont and his party left on their return the 
next day at four in the afternoon, galloping 
forty miles that afternoon, a hundred and 
twenty the next day, and a hundred and 
thirty on the two succeeding days, arriving 
in Los Angeles on the ninth day from their 
departure. 

The distance going and coming is eight 
hundred and forty miles, and the trail for 
the entire distance led over steep hills, down 
gloomy defiles and precipitous declivities, 
and across wild unpeopled valleys, where 
only the sun and compass guided them. The 
actual hours in the saddle were seventy-six, 
about eleven miles an hour. 

Fremont rode the same horse forty miles 
on the afternoon he left Monterey and ninety 
miles more the day following, thus making 
one hundred and thirty miles in twenty-four 
hours, on one steed. 

This charger, then left loose without a 
master, led the cavalcade thirty miles far- 
ther that afternoon, until they came to his 
pastures. With the exception of one relay 
from Monterey, the men rode the same nine 
animals going and returning. The horses 
were unshod and carried with riders the 
[29] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

heavy Mexican saddles and bridles then uni- 
versally used. The whole adventure rivals 
Alexander's pursuit of Darius in Bactria. 
No Arabian steeds could surpass this feat. 
The California horses were relatively small, 
but with deep withers and broad flanks. Ex- 
cept in weight and color they very much re- 
sembled the Arabian stallions to be seen in 
the streets of Cairo. They were fed very 
little grain, but the rich grasses of the val- 
leys near the shore were heavy and sustain- 
ing. ' ' 

I remember a method of treating horses 
in those days that may be interesting even 
to-day. A friend had ridden one of our 
horses too hard, fed him fresh wheat and 
then wondered why the horse was foundered ! 

There were no veterinarians then, and 
quick relief must be at hand if the horse was 
to be saved. One of the young Castros took 
charge of the animal, lighted rolls of linen 
and as the flames died out, the smoking fumes 
were held to the horse's head (which had 
been covered with a blanket) bringing in- 
stant relief and a speedy cure. The same 
treatment was later used on horses in New 
York and in Paris, with like result. But the 
California instance I remember well. My 
mother ever ready to respond in an emer- 
[30] 



EARLY DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 

gency, quickly contributing some of her lin- 
gerie — the only linen at hand. 

My mother ^s knowledge of Spanish was a 
great help to her in those days of travel in 
Central America and California, proving the 
wisdom of my grandfather, when he had her 
learn the ^' neighbor language,^' as he 
termed it, ^ ^ that she might talk over the back 
fence without the fear of the trouble that 
an interpreter might easily foment.'' 

All our traveling in California was done 
during the dry season, when the days proved 
the right of the state to be called ^* the Italy 
of America, ' ' as my father called the climate 
in his report to the government. The phrase 
was so appropriate that it has been revived 
and given wide currency by recent authors, 
in connection with volumes treating of the 
wonders of the State. 

In 1849 however, the winter in California 
was particularly wet, the rains unusually 
heavy and continuous, and much indignation 
was expressed because my father had re- 
ferred to the state in the above terms, the 
papers expressing the wish that the coiner 
of that phrase ^* might be dragged through 
the mud of his Italian climate,'' that he 
might the better appreciate its beauties! 

During that long rainy winter, my mother 
and Mrs. Macavoy spent the days seated by 
[31] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

the big open fire in the long adobe room of 
our home, sewing, for there were no sewing 
machines, and the family work had all to be 
hand-made. The room was made cheerful 
and bright by the fire, the comfortable 
Chinese cane chairs and rows of recently im- 
ported Canton China, and the Macavoy baby 
and I played on the furs that were liberally 
spread on the uncarpeted floor. 

When my father was with us, we read 
tnuch together — for we had plenty of books 
and papers, the irregular mails never failing 
to bring a plentiful supply, which added 
much to the enjoyment and cosy shelter of the 
thick- walled adobe. 

As my mother grew stronger, we spent 
more time in San Francisco and San Jose, 
particularly in the latter place, and at the 
time that the constitutional convention was 
held, making plans for the admission of the 
Territory of California as a state. 

It was there that strong pressure was 
brought to bear upon my father, in an effort 
to induce him to lend his influence towards 
bringing California in as a slave state. 

It was pointed out to him that by using 
slave labor upon his mining estate, '* The 
Mariposa," instead of paying five dollars a 
day to laborers, he would soon be a million- 
aire. 

[32] 



EAKLY DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 

In those days millionaires were few and 
far between. The temptation was great, but 
my father resolutely cast it aside, determined 
to sink or swin the sea of fortune with free 
labor. 

My mother worked as hard as did my 
father for the admission of the free state, 
many a vote being won by the sight of her, a 
delicate young southern woman, cheerfully 
doing her own work rather than take any 
steps that might influence the adoption of 
slavery into our splendid territory. Mrs. 
Macavoy, the English woman whom we had 
when we first reached California, soon 
achieved a home of her own, and to replace 
her seemed impossible. 

My mother by birth and tradition was op- 
posed to slavery. Her mother, a Virginian, 
and a member of the Colonization Society of 
that state, had after the death of her father. 
Colonel McDowell of Eockbridge County, im- 
mediately freed all the slaves he had left her, 
starting some of them in trades, sending 
others to Canada or Liberia as they pre- 
ferred, and always looking out for those who 
remained in the United States. 

My father believed in those days that Cali- 
fornia was the paradise of free labor, an 
opinion that he never changed to the end of 
his days. The climate and the conditions 
[33] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

•under which a man depending upon his day's 
wages might obtain a home of his own 
seemed better in this state than elsewhere in 
the wide world, and had slavery been intro- 
duced, its blighting effect would have been 
felt for years after its final abolition. As I 
now witness the sight here in Los Angeles of 
thousands of families of moderate means, 
enjoying their simple bungalow homes, I rea- 
lize how wise was his judgment. 

My father was one of the first two senators 
of California, having drawn the short term, 
and at the close of his official duties in Wash- 
ington, he returned again to San Francisco, 
where my brother Charlie, one of the first 
sons of the golden west (of American par- 
entage), was born. It was then that my 
father and mother decided upon a year of 
foreign travel, the only thorough vacation 
that my father ever had ; and we started for 
England. 



[34] 



MEMOEIES OF THE COUET OF 
VICTORIA 

AWAY back in the days of the dim and 
dusty past, when America was consid- 
ered a new country and when Americans in 
London were few and far between, my father 
and mother embarked for foreign shores, 
determined to forget all cares for a year, de- 
voting that brief portion of their busy lives 
to one long dreamless day of pleasure. 

It was in 1852 when my father reached this 
decision — shortly after he had proudly raised 
the American flag over California — and of 
course, my mother was filled with happiness, 
in anticipation of the treat in store for her. 
For in those days, a trip across the ocean 
was an uncommon thing, and a presentation 
at Court — the thought of it was like unto a 
picture from the pages of Fairyland! 

In the days of early hardships, when 
father surmounted what loomed up like in- 
surmountable obstacles, not a care ever fur- 
rowed his brow that did not also leave a trace 
of its imprint on mother 's young face. When 
she gave her hand and her heart into his 
[35] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

keeping, she took for her very own, the words 
of Euth: 

^^ Whithersoever thou shalt go, I will go: 
and where thou shalt dwell, I also will dwell. 
Thy people shall be my people, and thy God 
my God.'' 

And whether the pathway led along the 
desert plains or into the primrose way, my 
father and mother were one and inseparable 
in heart and mind, until the Grim Eeaper 
severed their lives in twain. 

When we started out from San Francisco 
for London, my brother Charles, afterwards 
Admiral Fremont of the U. S. Navy, was then 
a sturdy lad of two years. Crossing the At- 
lantic, we encountered a March storm, and 
the little brother who was destined to shine 
later as an active naval officer, was tied 
to the railing of the mainmast, where it 
passed through the ladies' cabin. He was 
permitted to romp to the length of the four 
foot rope which held him firmly, though I 
remember that he spent more time standing 
on his head than on his feet, such was the 
fury of the waves ! 

We reached London at length, and my par- 
ents found their old friends, the Abbott Law- 
rences of Boston and Lowell, waiting to give 
them a hearty welcome and to initiate them 
into the inner circles of London society, Mr. 
[36] 



MEMORIES OF THE COURT OF VICTORIA 

Lawrence then representing the United 
States in England. 

The Lawrences had a daughter Kitty, a 
young lady about the same age as my mother, 
and the two became inseparable companions. 
The women of the party started in to enjoy 
the social diversions of the metropolis, and 
for seven long weeks attended every social 
function. Some Grand Dame of London was 
teaching the etiquette of the Court of Vic- 
toria to the young women who were to be pre- 
sented, part of the training consisting of 
practising the proper curtsy to be made 
before the Queen. Southern girls were 
taught such things at home in those days, 
and made the same exquisitely graceful curt- 
sy to their mothers as the ** great ladies '* 
abroad made to the Queen, so that mother 
was an apt pupil. 

The momentous day finally arrived and my 
mother and Kitty Lawrence were ready for 
the presentation. I well remember their 
starting forth and have often heard mother 
relate how the drive to the Palace was filled 
with interest to the young Americans, the 
first portion of it made in good time, thus 
avoiding the scrutiny of the populace lined 
up on the curb stone, ready to criticize the 
costumes of the speeding guests. When the 
heart of the city was reached, however, the 
[37] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

drive was slow and laborious, through 
densely packed crowds, whose more or less 
frank criticism was plainly heard by occu- 
pants of the passing vehicles. 

My mother in the full bloom of youth, must 
have presented a pretty picture with her 
wealth of dark brown hair, her pink and 
white complexion and light hazel eyes, aglow 
with the excitement of the moment. She 
wore a gown of pink silk with pink moire 
train, trimmed with roses shaded from red 
to delicate pink and white, pretty as the na- 
tural blossoms, a beauty peculiar to all 
French artificial flowers. ** A harmony of 
roses, ^ ' is what mother liked to call that court 
gown, and it must have accentuated her 
beauty in those days, when she was a matron 
of less than twenty-eight years. 

Mrs. Lawrence escorted mother to the 
waiting room of the Palace. In some man- 
ner the party were separated and mother 
found herself standing in the embrasure of 
a window which overlooked the entrance of 
the court, when a stately lady addressed her 
with: 

* ^ You are a stranger here, may I point out 
to you the notables as they enter the Pal- 
ace? '' 

This lady proved to be Lady Clarendon, 
whose husband was later made Viceroy of 
[38] 



MEMOKIES OF THE COURT OF VICTORIA 

Ireland, where his popularity was greatly 
enhanced by his wife, a woman of unusually 
winsome manners. 

When mother finally entered the Eoyal 
drawing room, she beheld Queen Victoria 
with the Prince Consort, Albert Edward, at 
her side, a picture of devotion. 

There were more guests present at that 
drawing room than usual, and perhaps more 
representatives of the nobility than are 
usually gathered together upon such an occa- 
sion. Among the distinguished persons of 
the day, was the Duke of Wellington, a man 
well on in years, his silver hair lighting up 
his face in a striking manner ; also the Minis- 
ter of Russia, Dean of the Diplomatic Corps ; 
and Count Walewski, a cousin of the Prince 
President, and always his true and trusted 
friend. 

There was considerable feeling among the 
Diplomatic Corps on that occasion and as 
usual, since time began, a woman was at the 
bottom of it. The brilliant wife of Count 
Walewski was an Italian by birth, a beauti- 
ful woman with dark eyes, fair skin and 
golden hair. She was the thorn in the side 
of many a lady of state, but her joy was un- 
confined on this Presentation Day, for by 
order of Napoleon, her husband had been 
made Ambassador to England at the eleventh 
[39] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

hour, and thus he held first rank for the day 
among the diplomats. So the Italian 
Countess, regal in her beauty, proudly led the 
way to the throne. Gowned in pink and 
white and wearing a rope of pearls that was 
once the property of the Empress Josephine, 
the Countess seemed to realize to the full the 
social distinction that was hers even for the 
one brief hour, and was proudly making the 
most of it. 

A striking and memorable figure of that 
presentation scene was the great Duke of 
Wellington. He walked back and forth be- 
hind the throne, a privilege accorded only to 
Wellington, all others being forbidden to 
either move or speak in the presence of the 
Queen. By a strange coincidence, back of the 
throne was a painting representing one of the 
battles of the first Napoleon — the work of a 
master hand and so life-like that one could 
hear in fancy the din of war. 

As the great Wellington walked back and 
forth in front of this picture he seemed to be 
lost in thought. Was he living over again the 
scenes of that terrific conflict? The thought 
was insistent and impressive. 

During the presentation my mother was 

self-possessed, trying hard to remember 

every historic personage and incident that 

like a panorama was fleeting before her, that 

[40] 



MEMOKIES OF THE COUKT OF VICTOKIA 

she might write the details to her dearly- 
loved father at even-tide ; for, never was the 
day so busy nor the way so weary that the 
setting sun did not see a letter penned by her 
to her father, so that even though distance 
separated them, they were always one at 
night fall. 

To my father the presentation scene was 
like a wedding, for as he naively put it in 
later years, the men were of no importance 
at all. The ladies had the day and they 
claimed it for their very own. But on this 
day father was the centre of a group of Eng- 
lishmen intent upon hearing of America, that 
wonderful new country, and of the taking of 
California. For he was not looked upon as a 
stranger by these men, as he had been made 
a gold medalist of the Eoyal Geographical 
Society, in honor of his western explorations. 

My parents thoroughly enjoyed their stay 
in London, and were entertained not only by 
the Lawrences, but by Sir Henry and Lady 
Bulwer, whom they had known in Washing- 
ton, when Bulwer was of the Diplomatic 
Corps. At ^^ Sion House '^ — Northumber- 
land — mother came to her first realization of 
the fact that lords and ladies of the English 
nobility are, after all, but human, like other 
men and women. Accustomed to reading of 
the titled women in fairy tales and novels of 
[41] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

the day, it was quite an awakening for her to 
hear Lady Bulwer say to the Duchess of 
Sutherland : 

^* Susan ^ come and meet Mrs. Fremont, of 
North America! '' 

This ''■ North America '^ phrase grated on 
mother's ears, who afterwards told her 
American friends that every time she heard 
the expression, she imagined herself out on 
the weary plains, decked out in the multi- 
colored skirt and bodice of the American 
Squaw ! 

While in London, our compatriot, George 
Peabody, celebrated for his philanthropy 
both in America and England, one night gave 
my parents his box at the leading theatre on 
an evening when Queen Victoria has ordered 
a special play produced, which dealt with the 
French Eevolution. The Peabody box was 
directly opposite the Queen's box — so that 
we were afforded an unusual opportunity to 
obtain a good view of the Queen and her 
party. 

Anxious to give me a glimpse of Victoria, 
mother took me with her. I was the only child 
in the theatre, and was therefore, the cyno- 
sure of all eyes, but was not at all abashed. 
My life in Washington had accustomed me to 
strange people and I was not one whit self- 
conscious. I was pleased that the queen 
[42] 



MEMORIES OF THE COURT OF VICTORIA 

noticed me, though I was at first bitterly dis- 
appointed at seeing a real queen, who did not 
wear a crown or carry a sceptre. For in all 
the fairy tales I had ever read, never had a 
queen dared to present herself minus these 
details so necessary to the mind of the child ! 
Gradually, however, I became reconciled to 
the lack of dramatic details which I had 
always considered indispensable to the well 
appointed costume of royalty. 

The celebrated actor Frederick Lemaitre, 
was the star of the play produced on that 
evening by order of Victoria, and the impres- 
sion he created remains with me today. The 
play dealt with the saving of a girl of noble 
lineage from the guillotine by a peasant, the 
girl marrying him in order to save her life in 
those dark days. 

When the Eevolution had drawn to a close, 
the family of the girl wanted her to return 
to them; the Eestoration made it no longer 
necessary for her to live the life of a 
peasant's wife. The husband joined with the 
parents in beseeching the girl to return to her 
home, explaining to her that while his love 
for her knew no bounds, he would rather give 
her up than force her to eat the cabbage soup 
and dry bread which must fall to her lot if 
she remained by his side. The girl, however, 
resolutely stood by her husband, who finally 
[43] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

accepted her sacrifice as one more addition 
to those innumerable sacrifices piled up on 
the altar of love, since man and woman were 
made. 

Queen Victoria, on the evening in question, 
were a blue satin gown, with low neck and 
short sleeves, of course, a rope of coral and 
pearls encircling her throat, and a tiara of 
diamonds in her hair. The play of emotion 
on the face of the queen, as the actor depicted 
the old, yet ever new, struggle between 
love and duty, was reflected on the face of 
the Prince Consort, showing that beneath all 
the stately dignity, there beat human hearts, 
learned in the pathos of love. Now and then 
the face of the queen softened, as the more 
tender emotions of the heart were flashed 
from the stage — as though those sentiments 
found an answering echo within her. 

My remembrance of Victoria, however, is a 
picture of royal pride, surrounded by her 
ladies-in-waiting, who remained standing 
during the entire performance. The Prince 
Consort, also standing, leaned on the back of 
the chair of his queen. Evidently in those 
days, there were no laws compelling em- 
ployers to provide seats for women workers, 
nor was the much vaunted ** equality of the 
sexes,'' sanctioned by the Prince Consort! 
His air of quiet deference to his wife was 
[44] 



MEMOKIES OF THE COURT OF VICTORIA 

perhaps one of his most striking character- 
istics. 

By a strange coincidence, on that night of 
the memorable theatre party, mother was 
gowned much after the fashion of Victoria, 
wearing a gown of pale blue moire, softened 
with a shower of white, and around her 
throat there was a string of corals. 

But all things come to an end — even the 
fairy tales of happy childhood — and so the 
memory of that theatre party soon faded, 
lost in the gaiety of the moment, experience 
following experience, with almost riotous 
confusion. 

Miss Burdett Coutts always gave a dinner 
to the Duke of Wellington on his birthday, 
and as was the custom of the day, the guest 
of honor was permitted to name those whom 
he especially wished to be bidden to the fes- 
tivities. The Duke accordingly, requested 
that father and mother be included among 
the guests. Preparations were being made 
for the event, when the first cloud of that 
happy day appeared in the midst of a sunlit 
sky, and the truth of the axiom that *^ man 
proposes, but God disposes," was forced 
deep into the heart of my mother. 

The Kossuth was visiting in America 
and when he reached St. Louis, John Ean- 
dolph Benton, my mother's young brother, 
[45] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

was selected to deliver tlie address of wel- 
come. The young man was a German scholar 
of unusual proficiency and especially fitted 
to deliver an address in that language, there 
being then no one of sufficient prominence in 
St. Louis who spoke Hungarian. 

He had just attained his majority, and the 
future loomed up promisingly before him; 
but the excitement, and the extreme heat and 
bad water, served as the undoing of that 
brilliant youth. After the address had been 
delivered and Kossuth had started for other 
shores, the young man fell ill of a fever, and 
ere twenty-four hours had elapsed Death 
had claimed one more shining mark, and 
gloom enveloped the home of my grandfather. 

The news came slowly across the water to 
mother, who crushed by the blow, hurried to 
Paris, hoping to lighten the burden of her 
loss by a change of scene. That the scenes of 
the gay French capital did not, however, blind 
her to the sorrow that was gnawing at her 
heart is evidenced by the fact that for four 
weeks she was kept in a darkened room, her 
eyes bandaged and blindness threatened as a 
result of the constant weeping that followed 
the receipt of the ill-fated letter from her 
father. 

Finally, however, she rallied from the 
[46] 



MEMORIES OP THE COUET OP VICTOBIA 

shock as Time, that merciful healer, bound 
up the wounds, and later in. life, even though 
she learned that a thorn comes with every 
rose, she knew that the roses are none the les3 
sweet for that! And among the thorns and 
brambles of life she found many friends who 
were always willing to lighten the load, even 
as she was ever ready to lighten that of 
the humblest wayfarer who chanced across 
her path. 



[47] 



PAEIS SCENES 

WHEN we decided to spend a year or two 
in Paris, we were most fortunate in se- 
curing the home of Lady Dundonald, an Eng- 
lish woman who was leaving Paris for a time 
and who was glad to rent her beautiful home 
to a careful tenant. 

The house was situated on the Champs 
Elys^es, half way between the Arc de 
Triomphe and Eonde Pointe. It was built 
like all French houses on a line with the 
pavement, and beyond the porte cochere, 
which had a large gate, was a beautiful foun- 
tain of running water filled with gold fish, 
which divided the court yard from the lovely 
sunken garden, making a charming scene. 

The room that had been used as a waiting 
room by the Dundonald footman was used as 
a fencing room by our family, and I was one 
of the very few girls who were taught to 
fence in those days. 

My mother drove the first pair of English 

horses ever driven in Paris, except those 

owned by the Emperor. They were perfectly 

matched dapple grays, with silver manes and 

[49] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

tails. When we were leaving Paris some 
eighteen months after, many flattering oif ers 
were made for them, but to all my father re- 
plied : 

* * I bought them for a birthday present for 
my wife, and no one else shall ever drive 
them in Paris/' 

When we left Paris they were sent to a 
friend in Bucharest. 

The House of Lady Dundonald has a story 
all its own, an eloquent illustration of the 
* * woman scorned ' ' theory. 

There had been war between Chili and 
Peru, Lord Dundonald doing noble work for 
the winning side, and saving the day against 
tremendous odds. The South American Ee- 
public wanted to reward the hero in a fitting 
manner, but between their good intentions 
and the rigorous laws governing English 
army officers stood an iron wall which made 
it impossible for an officer to accept a gift in 
reward of services, however valiant they 
might have been. So the Kepublic decided 
to send a handsome cash present to Lady 
Dundonald, intending, of course, that she 
should present it to her husband and thus 
evade the law covering the matter. They 
gave two hundred thousand dollars which 
was considerably more of a fortune in those 
[50] 



PABIS SCENES 

times than it is to-day, duly presenting it to 
Lady Dundonald who graciously received it. 

She did not tell them that she was not liv- 
ing with her husband. She simply took the 
money — and kept it — and when Lord Dun- 
donald, that brave and dauntless soldier 
found it out, he could only gnash his teeth and 
cry out against the duplicity of woman, when 
her love was turned to hate ! 

Lady Dundonald made good use of the 
money, and at once set out to build for herself 
the most artistic home in Paris, where she 
would be free to live as she pleased. Lady 
Blessington and Count D^Orsay were the two 
persons accounted then in Europe most noted 
for their exquisite taste, and to these two, 
who happened to be great friends of hers, 
Lady Dundonald left the building and the 
furnishing of the place, and right royally did 
they carry out the commission, as was at- 
tested by every nook and corner of the house. 

It was the first house I had ever seen where 
every bit of the furniture did not match, 
and the novelty appealed to me with increas- 
ing force as I grew to enjoy it the more. 

Just one cabinet in the house was locked. 
Lady Dundonald carried the key, and that 
ebony cabinet was a veritable treasure trove, 
filled with the rarest silver, delicate china and 
bric-^-brac, and from the center hung a great 
[51] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

lump of purest amber, with two or three flies 
entangled within the pretty mass, the very 
essence of art and beauty. 

The main salon of the house was like a fairy 
bower, with its heavy plate mirrors and Ital- 
ian clocks, and overlooked the gay Champs 
Elysees with its ever changing and always 
interesting scenes. The mirror over the fire- 
place, in its Florentine gold frame, was a work 
of art in itself. It could be raised like a win- 
dow, disappearing in the wall above and 
leaving in its beautiful frame a large plate 
glass window pane, from which we had a 
splendid view of the street below, perhaps 
unequalled in all Paris. 

The library, opening to the left of the main 
salon, was finished in gay reds, while to the 
right was the state bed room, gorgeous in its 
trappings of pale green moire, with touches 
of pink silk here and there. It was in this 
room that my sister Annie was born — the 
only Parisienne of the family! 

The parlor was finished in pale green, pink 
and red, the furniture covered with satin of 
these hues, with many white and gold chairs 
scattered about, too fragile for use, and evi- 
dently made only to admire. 

Between the main salon and its flanking 
rooms were several beautiful jardinieres, 
each arranged in front of a sheet of plate 
[52] 



PARIS SCENES 

glass which gave an unobstructed view 
through the adjoining rooms, with their mir- 
rored mantles. These jardinieres were filled 
weekly with fresh flowers and the memory of 
the beauty of the mass of blooms, reflected in 
the mirrors, lives with me still. At night 
when the great chandeliers, with their innu- 
merable hanging pendants of purest crystal, 
were ablaze with light, the beauty of the 
rooms was seen again through the smaller 
mirrors over the fireplaces in the adjoining 
rooms, the lights, the brilliant cut glass of 
the chandeliers and the flowers all blending 
into one harmonious whole, making a fire- 
light picture beautiful to behold. The rooms 
were multiplied by the arrangement of the 
mirrors into a crystal maze of surpassing 
beauty, which bespoke the artistic talent of 
the designers of the house. 

The Dundonald coat-of-arms, which Lady 
Dundonald did not discard with her husband, 
was emblazoned on the dining room chairs. 
It was really the only thing in the house that 
reminded one of the absent lord and perhaps 
represented his share of the fund with which 
the place was purchased. The coat-of-arms 
consisted of two greyhounds, rampant, on a 
long chain which reached from the collar of 
the hounds to the shield. The motto: ** Labor 
et virtus, '^ entwined with the coat-of-arms, 
[53] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

was never taken seriously by Lady Dundon- 
ald. The source of her great wealth had 
nothing to do with it, for she labored not, 
neither did she spin, and she lived her life in 
her own way, content if only the life brought 
its full share of pleasure. 

There were no closets in the house, but on 
each floor one room was set apart as a general 
closet for the use of the household. 

All the ingenuity of the designers seemed 
to have been expended on the marble bath 
room, fitted as it was with an open fire-place, 
a huge mirror placed above it, the silver fau- 
cets exquisitely carved and representing the 
heads and necks of delicate swans. The en- 
tire room was of marble, the tub and floor of 
the same material, and all the trimming of 
silver. 

From the balcony of our Paris house we 
witnessed the triumphant entry of the Prince 
President, Napoleon III, as the Emperor of 
the French, on Napoleon's Day, December 
the Second. The streets were lined four deep 
with the military, and mounted troops were 
everywhere in evidence. 

I remember the impressive spectacle pre- 
sented as the Emperor rode alone in that 
great procession, no one within one hundred 
and twenty feet of him, in front or in the rear. 
He held his hat in one hand and the reins in 
[54] 



PAEIS SCENES 

the other. Defenceless, he presented a pic- 
ture worthy of the great Napoleon. 

** No gnard shall surround me as I enter 
Paris/' he had ordered. *^ If I die at the 
hands of an assassin, I die alone! " 

A tiger skin saddle decorated the horse 
which the Emperor rode, and following him 
at a distance of one hundred and twenty feet, 
as he had prescribed, rode Marshal Lowen- 
stein, a hale old man of eighty, a trusted aide 
of the great Napoleon and his only surviving 
Marshal. 

He was followed by a remnant of the 
valiant men who had served their country 
under the Great Napoleon. 

That day was a day of tense excitement at 
our home. My father had invited a number 
of guests to witness the entry of the Emperor, 
and so great was the vigilance of the police 
that every citizen was obliged to file with 
them the names of every invited guest. My 
father had complied with the request in com- 
mon with the other residents of the city and 
was astounded at the last moment to note the 
appearance of the widow of Commodore 
Stewart, an uninvited acquaintance who had 
thoughtlessly brought with her two men who 
were conspicuous among the marked ^ * reds ' ' 
of Paris. Instantly, though quietly, my 
father notified the police, and detectives were 
[55] 



BEGOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FBEMONT 

sent to guard the unbidden guests, without 
their knowledge, of course, and thus a delicate 
situation was safely mastered. 

^' If there is to be any shooting,'' said mj 
father, ' * it must not be done from my home. ' ' 

Mrs. Stewart also brought with her on that 
day her young grandson, Charles Stewart 
Parnell, then a very small boy, later destined 
to be lionized by the Irish people in his great 
fight for Home Eule for the struggling island 
over the sea. 

In that same house, we had a taste of the 
loyalty of the legitimist to the White Flag of 
the Bourbons. On my father's birthday we 
always made it a practice to decorate the 
house with flowers, and when celebrating 
such a day in the Paris house my mother had 
the rooms filled with great bunches of white 
roses and heliotrope, his favorite flowers, all 
unconscious of the disturbance they were cre- 
ating below stairs. 

Finally, one of the servants came to my 
mother 's maid with the announcement that all 
the servants were to quit, at once. Questioned 
for the reason, he replied : 

*' We are well treated, we are being paid 
American wages, and it is hard for us to 
leave. But we are legitimists, and we will 
not remain in a house that celebrates the 
death of Louis XVI." 

[56] 



PARIS SCENES 

It took a great deal of explanation before 
the servants, patriotic to the core, could be 
made to understand that it was the birthday 
of my father that we were celebrating, and 
that we were not to be blamed because it hap- 
pened to fall on the anniversary of the death 
of Louis XVI. Finally, however, they under- 
stood the situation and remained with us to 
enjoy the *^ American wages,'' a while 
longer. 

From that Paris home, I often saw Made- 
moiselle De Montijo, the beautiful woman 
who was later the Empress Eugenie, as she 
rode past the place on her daily horse back 
rides, accompanied by a woman friend. They 
were perhaps the only two women who then 
rode horse back in Paris, as the French 
women of that day rode only in the country, 
to the hunt. 

There was a riding school in Paris that of- 
fered diversion to my father, who always en- 
joyed a joke. Anxious for excitement, father 
one day called on the riding master and an- 
nounced that he was ready to begin to learn 
the art of riding horse back. The Frenchman 
went through many simple strides with his 
new pupil, to the intense delight of my father, 
until one day the horse acted a bit too wildly 
for a novice to handle, and my father was 
compelled to show that he had handled the 
[57] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

reins before. The Frenchman was astound- 
ed: 

** You have ridden before! '' he cried, 
laughing at the joke upon himself. And after 
that, he and father enjoyed many a ride to- 
gether, my father the teacher, showing how 
the horses were ridden when the pathway 
was cleared over the plains. 

When the wedding of the Emperor was the 
sole topic of discussion in Paris, my father 
and mother were invited to the church cere- 
mony at Notre Dame, a pleasure they were 
obliged to forego on account of the delicate 
health of my mother. Not caring to miss a 
sight of the gay procession, however, my 
father rented rooms in a house that stood at 
the head of a fork of streets, where we could 
have an unobstructed view of the wedding 
party. Mindful of his experience when the 
Emperor made his triumphal entry into 
Paris, my father invited no guests to join us 
on that day. 

Special troops followed and preceded the 
carriage of the Emperor on the way to Notre 
Dame, Marshall Lowenstein, the same officer 
of Napoleon who entered Paris with the 
Emperor, having the position of honor, and 
he seemed to enjoy it. 

The carriage of the Emperor led the pro- 
cession, followed by the troops, the noise of 
[58] 



PAEIS SCENES 

the hoofs of the horses as they struck the 
cobble stones on the pavement of the narrow- 
streets, sounding like a military wedding 
march, defiant, distinct, unafraid! The Em- 
peror wore the dress of a Marshal of France, 
and beside him was seated his bride, in white 
Irish uncut velvet, with a wedding veil of 
English point lace. There was considerable 
feeling expressed among the French because 
the wedding finery consisted of the fabrics of 
Ireland and England instead of those of 
France, and so from her wedding morn, the 
ill fated woman was doomed to meet with 
trouble along life's rugged way. 

No fairy queen could be more beautiful 
than was the Emperor's bride on her wedding 
day, and the sight of her radiantly beautiful 
face, the light hair and blue eyes, dispelled 
the murmurings of the impulsive people. 

The old French State Coach of solid glass 
and gilt, was used for the wedding coach, 
drawn by eight fine bay horses, with a man at 
the head of each prancing steed, the animals 
apparently affected by the joyous strains of 
music which filled the air, unwilling to be held 
back. On the box of the coach was seated a 
pompous coachman, the two footmen occupy- 
ing the usual place in the back. 

Ah well! the beautiful empress has seen 
the darker side of life since that bright morn- 
[59] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

ing dawned for her in Paris, and Time has 
worked with a vengeance on that once exqui- 
sitely fair face ! She has learned full well the 
sorrow of a mother's heart, and has drained 
the cup of tragedy to its dregs. The death 
of her son ended all for her I ** The sun 
turned to darkness and the noon-tide to 
night." Yet, in the sorrow of a lonely old 
age, exiled, bereft of life's dearest ties, she 
is still serenely beautiful in the quiet dignity 
of her widowhood. 



[60] 



THE WINTER OF FIFTY-THEEE AND 
'FOUE 

"TAURING the life of my grandfather, 
^^ Washington was always considered our 
home, and so when we left Paris, we left it 
for the Capitol City, where my father rented 
a house adjoining that of my grandfather. 

When father was on his long exploration 
trips, mother made it a habit to take dinner 
at her father's home each day, and the two 
houses were really the common property of 
both families. 

My mother's young sister Susie, liked to 
practice on her own Erard piano, and to play 
on mother's Viennese Pleyel, its soft singing 
tones the particular delight of the young mu- 
sician. 

This arrangement met with my full ap- 
proval and I liked to take my lessons away 
from the study room, and pore over them 
under the shadow of the piano, studying as 
Aunt Susie played. This gifted aunt played 
the music of Beethoven exceptionally well, 
and now in the twilight of life, a neighbor of 
mine plays the same beautiful music. As I 
[61] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

sit and listen to the strains wafted into my 
home by the friendly breezes, I dream over 
again the delights of a happy youth, for that 
music has a charm all its own for me and ever 
carries me back to my school-girl days on the 
banks of the Potomac. 

My Aunt Susie later in life was Madame 
Boileau, and when she lived in Paris, often 
played at Eossini's musical Sundays — the 
musical event of the week. I have heard her 
say that when she was ready to play, Kossini 
would send his wife among the guests with 
the message : 

*^ Madame Boileau is going to play; those 
who want to talk may now leave ! ' ' 

How many music lovers in this country sigh 
for a similar message to be sent among the 
thoughtless audiences of to-day! 

That same young aunt, later, was the 
mother of Philip Boileau of New York City, 
the noted painter of portraits and of ideal- 
ized female heads. 

But I am digressing from my story. 

We brought a governess with us from 
France, all our lessons were given in French 
from French text books, and we led busy 
lives, we girls, regulated on the English plan 
of lessons and exercise. 

I say ^ ' we, ' ' and I use the word advisedly, 
for my father brought up the daughter of his 
[62] 



THE WINTER OF FIFTY-THREE AND FOUR 

brother, who died just before the child was 
born, and we two were play-mates and stud- 
ents together. 

All my education was obtained from gov- 
ernesses, masters, and from home teaching, 
my school days being confined to six brief 
weeks in Paris where I studied French, and 
tried hard to convince the French girls of that 
day that I neither looked like an Indian, nor 
was an Indian. They finally settled the ques- 
tion among themselves by deciding that as I 
had sailed from New York to Paris I must 
have descended from the Dutch of New Am- 
sterdam, though what they knew about the 
Dutch was a puzzle that I have never been 
able to solve. I was the first American girl to 
be enrolled in that French school, and natur- 
ally was an object of considerable curiosity. 

While we lived in Washington we attended 
Epiphany Church, Mr. Jeiferson Davis oc- 
cupying the pew just back of ours. As the 
Davis family often brought guests to church 
with them, and as the dresses of the ladies 
took up considerably more room than they do 
to-day. Mr. Davis was often crowded out of 
his pew, and joined us in ours much to my 
dismay, as I was compelled to move over from 
the end seat, which I cherished as the 
^ ' man ' ' of the family. 

The winter of 1853, when my father took 
[63] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

his last exploration party across the plains, 
was severely cold, even in Washington. The 
following spring, too, was raw and cold, and 
my mother felt great apprehension for his 
safety. 

"We always celebrated Easter as a church 
day, as well as the birthday of my brother 
Charles, for he was born on Easter Day. 

As Easter approached, my mother begged 
permission to decorate the font of the church 
with flowers, and by dint of much persuasion 
her request was granted. Accordingly, when 
Easter morning dawned, the font was banked 
with dark red roses and heliotrope, their fra- 
grance filling the church and giving the ser- 
vice of that day a peculiar beauty. A driving 
snow storm was in progress — ** a pouderie," 
as the plainsmen and voyagers called what we 
now term a *^ blizzard *' — and the effect 
upon the congregation, as they filed into the 
church from the storm and beheld the beauty 
and drank in the fragrance of the flowers, 
may better be imagined than described. It 
was the first time in the United States that 
a Protestant Church had been decorated with 
flowers, and the sight so appealed to Miss 
Gilliss, daughter of James Malvin Gilliss, 
United States Navy, and founder of the Na- 
tional Naval Observatory of Washington, 
that later when living in New York, she pre- 
[64] 



Mrs. Fremont 

From a miniature painted in 184o carried from Washington to 
California by Kit Carson and there delivered to Gen. Fremont 



THE WINTER OF FIFTY-THREE AND FOUR 

vailed upon Dr. Morgan Dix to allow old 
Trinity Church to be similarly decorated. Dr. 
Dix at first objected to the innovation, but 
when told that Mrs. Fremont had similarly 
dressed the church in Washington, he gave 
his consent, for while General Dix was Sen- 
ator, his home was near my grandfather *s, 
and the two families were intimate friends. 
Dr. Dix knew that in Senator Benton's house- 
hold, things were thought out before they 
were acted upon, so he did not look upon the 
request as the mere whim of an enthusiastic 
girl. 

Dr. Dix gave his consent merely to decorate 
the font, but when he reached Old Trinity 
that Easter morning, he found the font, lec- 
tern, altar and chancel rail a mass of flowers 
fairly hidden beneath beautiful white azalias, 
intertwined with ferns. It was too late to 
order any change, and perhaps Old Trinity 
never before looked so beautiful. So pleased 
were the congregation with the effect that the 
next Easter saw practically all the Protestant 
churches of New York similarly decorated. 

It was early in November, 1853, while we 
were living beside my grandfather's home in 
Washington, that my father set out on a win- 
ter expedition across the continent. Efforts 
towards opening up the western country had 
already taken practical shape and the long 
[65] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

trains of emigrant wagons working along dif- 
ficult and dangerous roads, were enforcing 
the necessity of railroads to the Pacific Coast. 

While organized effort was being made to 
bring the railroads to the coasts the movement 
met with considerable opposition, and it was 
urged that the snows on the wide sweep of 
the great plains and in the Eocky Mountains 
would present insurmountable obstacles. The 
object of my father's expedition was to learn 
by personal observation and experience, just 
what the obstructions of a winter were in 
those regions, and how they would effect a 
railroad. 

As my father left the Missouri frontier, 
there were signs of an early winter; though 
game was abundant on the prairie, the snow 
was light. There were no hardships of note 
until he and his party were fairly among the 
mountains. 

My father had intended to follow across the 
mountains by the head waters of the Eio 
Grande del Norte and the Colorado Eivers, 
and until the party had reached the San Luis 
Valley and the head waters of the Del Norte, 
there had been sufficient game and plenty of 
grass for the animals. 

Entering the mountain region of the Col- 
orado water, however, the game suddenly 
failed and there was deep snow. They had to 
[66] 



THE WINTEB OF FIFTY-THBEE AND FOUR 

keep to the mountains, as the valley below, 
though practically clear of the snow, was 
barren. It became difficult for the animals to 
find enough grass to keep up their strength 
and the hunters had to cover wide tracts in 
search of game. The rest of the party were 
on foot. 

Gradually, the men grew weak on scanty fare 
and hard work, and hunger soon lengthened 
into actual starvation. The progress of the 
march was slow, and I have heard my father 
say that when the party issued from the 
mountains into the valley of the Colorado 
Eiver, the broken line of half- starved men, 
struggling across the naked desert of the 
great valley, but little resembled the well 
equipped party of hardy men that had left 
the Missouri only a few short months before. 

After they crossed the river at the head of 
one of the great canyons, they were soon in- 
volved again among the snow fields of the 
mountains. There remained only the bed of 
the Wahsatch ranges to cross, and there for 
the first and only time in all the travels of my 
father through inhospitable lands, he fell by 
the wayside exhausted. He was going up a 
mountain slope, breaking his way through the 
snow a little ahead of his party when with 
out a flash of warning, his strength left him 
and he could not move a muscle. The moun- 
[67] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

tain grove was naked, but nearby was a thick 
grove of aspen and across a neighboring ra- 
vine the yellow grass peeped above the snow 
on a south hillside. 

He decided to camp there and sat down in 
the snow to rest. After a few moments his 
strength returned, and none of the men no- 
ticed what had happened to him. 

The next day the party came upon a good 
camping ground, and they discarded every- 
thing not absolutely necessary for the re- 
mainder of the journey. My father told the 
men that they were but fifty miles from the 
Mormon town of Parowan, situated in the 
great basin, and this news nerved them to 
greater effort and in a few days the struggl- 
ing band of brave men had crossed the last 
ridges of the Wahsatch Mountains. 

It was a narrow chance, but with the excep- 
tion of one man who died from starvation 
just as the party left the mountains, my 
father brought them safely through to the 
end of the journey. 

At the foot of the last hill they struck a 
wagon road leading to Parowan, and soon 
after came upon a camp of Utah Indians. 
One of the tribe knew my father and pre- 
sented him with a dog. That, with some flour 
that the men traded from the Indians, made 
a welcome feast for the well nigh famished 
[68] 



THE WINTER OF FIFTY-THKEE AND FOUR 

travelers. The next day, February 6, 1854, 
they reached Parowan, where they were re- 
ceived with genuine hospitality and every- 
thing possible was done for their comfort. 
Good quarters were provided, fresh clothing, 
good food and the luxury of real beds made 
the recent hardships seem like a bad dream. 

That night my father sat by his camp fire 
until late in the night, dreaming of home and 
thinking of the great happiness of my mother, 
could she but know that he was safe. 

Finally, he returned to his quarters in the 
town only a few hundred yards away from 
the camp. The warm bright room, the white 
bed with all the suggestions of shelter and 
relief from danger, made the picture of home 
rise up like a real thing before him, and at 
half past eleven at night he made an entry in 
his journal, putting there the thought that 
had possession of him — that my mother in 
far away Washington might know that all 
danger was past and that he was safe and 
comfortable. 

All this as a prelude to a most uncommon 
experience which befell my mother in our 
Washington home on the night in question. 
We could not possibly hear from father 
at the earliest until midsummer. Though my 
mother went into society but little that year, 
there was no reason for gloomy forebodings. 
[69] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

The younger members of the family kept her 
in close touch with the social side of life, while 
her father, whose confidant she always was, 
kept her informed as to the political events 
of the moment. Her life was busy and filled 
with her full share of its responsibilities. In 
midwinter, however, my mother became 
possessed with the conviction that my father 
was starving, and no amount of reasoning 
could calm her fears. The idea haunted her for 
two weeks or more and finally began to leave 
its physical effects upon her. She could nei- 
ther eat nor sleep; open air exercise, plenty 
of company, the management of a household, 
all combined, could not wean her from the 
fear that my father and his men were starv- 
ing in the desert. 

The weight of fear was lifted from her as 
suddenly as it came. Her young sister Susie 
and a party of relatives, returned from a 
wedding at General Jessup's on the night of 
February 6, 1854, and came to mother 
to spend the night in order not to awaken 
the older members of my grandfather's 
family. The girls doffed their party 
dresses, replaced them with comfortable 
woolen gowns and gathered before the open 
fire in mother's room, were gaily relating the 
experiences of the evening. The fire needed 
replenishing and mother went to an adjoining 
[70] 



THE WINTEB OF FIFTY-THREE AND 'fOUR 

dressing room to get more wood. The old 
fashioned fire-place required long logs, which 
were too large for her to handle, and as she 
half knelt, balancing the long sticks of wood 
on her left arm, she felt a hand rest slightly 
on her left shoulder, and she heard my 
father's laughing voice whisper her name 
'' Jessie." 

There was no sound beyond the quick whis- 
pered name, no presence, only the touch, but 
my mother knew as people know in dreams, 
that my father was there, gay and happy, and 
intending to startle Susie, who when my 
mother was married, was only a child of 
eight, and who was always a pet playmate of 
my father's. Her shrill, prolonged scream 
was his delight and he never lost an opportu- 
nity to startle her. 

Mother came back to the girls' room, but 
before she could speak Susie gave a great cry, 
fell in a heap upon the rug, and screamed 
again and again until mother crushed her 
ball dress over her head to keep the sound 
from the neighbors. Her cousin asked 
mother what she had seen and she explained 
that she had seen nothing, but had heard my 
father tell her to keep still until he could 
scare Susie. 

Peace came to my mother instantly, and on 
retiring, she fell into a refreshing sleep from 
[71] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

which she did not waken until ten the next 
morning; all fear of the safety of father had 
vanished from her mind; with sleep came 
strength and she soon was her happy self 
again. 

When my father returned home, we learned 
that it was at the time the party were starv- 
ing that my mother had the premonition of 
evil having befallen them, and the entry in his 
journal showed that at exactly the moment 
he had written it at Parowan, my mother had 
felt his presence, and in that wireless mes- 
sage from heart to heart, knew that my father 
was safe and free from harm. The hour 
exactly tallied with the entry in his book, al- 
lowing for the difference in longitude. 

The Mormons at Parowan were excep- 
tionally kind to my father and his men that 
dreadful winter, even cashing father *s draft 
for him, a courtesy never before extended to 
a Gentile. 

Years afterwards, when we were living in 
Los Angeles — I think it was 1888 — a floral 
fair was planned for San Jose. Kjiowing my 
father's aversion to public display and that 
he would not accept a public invitation to be 
feted, a committee asked him to come to the 
town and see the fair, and to bring my mother 
and myself with him. The afternoon we ar- 
rived father was met by the militia, and wel- 
[72] 



THE WINTEK OF FIFTY-THEEE AND FOUK 

corned with the firing of guns. He was hidden 
beneath a bank of flowers in the carriage in 
which he rode and that evening amidst music 
and flowers he met a man who said to him : 

^* Colonel, you don't remember me, but I 
shall never forget you ! ' ' 

My father asked for time to think, and after 
the two talked a while, my father said : 

^ ^ I met you at Parowan in '54 ! " 

The man was one of the Mormons who had 
befriended the party of travelers and saved 
them from death in that perilous journey 
thirty-four years before. 

A little later, Kate Field, that brilliant 
journalist, came to Los Angeles to lecture on 
the Mormons — against whom she was very 
bitter — and she tried to prevail upon my 
father to introduce her at that public meeting. 
Finding every other excuse of no avail, my 
father finally said : 

** I cannot do it. The Mormons saved me 
and mine from death by starvation in '54, 
and I could not introduce you. ' ' 

After the death of my grandmother, who 
had been an invalid for years, my grand- 
father spent more time in St. Louis than had 
been his custom during her life, and, after 
a summer spent at Siasconset, Nantucket Is- 
land, we settled down in New York instead 
of returning to Washington. The slavery 
[73] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

question was beginning to divide families, 
although it never could turn my grandfather 
from his own, for his affections were too 
strong and his ideas of justice too plain to 
permit that; in fact, his loving tenderness in 
his family circle marked him as a very differ- 
ent man from ^^ Old Bullion,'' of the United 
States Senate, as he was nick-named for join- 
ing Jackson in the fight against the United 
States Bank. 

But with others it was different, and it 
became more pleasant to visit Washington 
than to live there, and so we took up our home 
in New York, where we lived through the 
exciting campaign of Fifty-Six. 



[74] 



THE CAMPAIGN OF FIFTY-SIX 

AFTER we left Washington, we went to 
Siasconset by the Sea, where we spent 
the following summer. While there my father 
was asked to permit the use of his name for 
nomination as the presidential candidate on 
the Democratic ticket. On account of his well 
known aversion to slavery, it was suggested 
that the party platform would permit alter- 
nate states to come into the Union as slave 
and free states, but my father would sign no 
plank that did not make for absolute freedom. 
A cousin of ours, William Preston of Ken- 
tucky, afterwards Minister to Spain, urged 
my father to be the standard bearer of the 
Democratic party. 

** Come with us; we are going to win," 
he urged, but my father would not forsake 
principle for political honors, and he re- 
mained firm in his decision. 

After my father had given his answer, he 
and my mother walked the bluff overlooking 
the ocean, discussing the matter far into the 
night, realizing all that it meant to them. 
They knew that the slavery issue would soon 

[75] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

divide the country, and with that great issue 
must come the parting of the ways for them — 
the severance of close family ties and friend- 
ships, for those sacred ties were severed as 
hearts were broken, thick and fast, during the 
dark days that followed, there being no com- 
promise between North and South. 

In speaking of that night in later years, I 
have heard my mother say that the lighthouse 
lighted up the bluff as they looked into the 
dark future, while the silvery light of the 
moon danced upon the ocean. ^^ The beacon 
light blazed out," said mother, ^* a warning 
to the mariners, to save them from the rocks 
ahead, but for us, alas! it lighted all our 
hopes, strewing the shore with the wreck of 
the loves and friendships of our past lives." 

Someone once said that my father should 
have been called Moses, instead of John, for 
like the biblical character, he was led up to 
the hilltop and permitted to view the prom- 
ised land below, though he never was per- 
mitted to enter. He must have though of this 
when he refused to lend his name for nomina- 
tion as standard bearer of the Democratic 
party in the campaign of '56. 

Eeturning to New York from our summer 

by the sea, we took a house on Second 

Avenue, directly opposite St. Mark's Church, 

later moving to West Ninth Street, and on the 

[76] 



THE CAMPAIGN OF FIFTY-SIX 

27th of June of that year, the Kepublican 
party, in its first national convention at Phila- 
delphia, nominated my father to head the 
ticket, and so began the campaign for the 
presidency — the first national campaign of 
the Kepublican party. 

Our home at once became political head- 
quarters, Mr. Francis Preston Blair Sr., of 
Washington, taking the reins in hand, deter- 
mined to win the contest now opening up be- 
fore us. John Bigelow, a close friend of my 
father's, was also active in that memorable 
campaign, and remained fighting for the 
cause until defeat was acknowledged. 

That campaign was full of personalities, 
and my father's nature was such that he 
could not have withstood its bitterness. He 
was used to life in the open and wanted a 
square fight, not one filled with petty innu- 
endoes and unfounded recriminations. So at 
the outset, it was agreed that he should not 
read his mail during the campaign, nor read 
the newspaper until they had been blue pen- 
ciled by my mother — a promise he religiously 
kept during all the excitement of that year. 

The seething political cauldron was steeped 
in malice and among other things, my father 
was bitterly attacked by the ^^ Know Noth- 
ings '' and arraigned as a Catholic, a charge 
that he never could be prevailed upon to deny. 
[77] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

^^ The charge is losing votes for you/' he 
was told, and he calmly replied: 

' ' Then I must lose them. My religion is a 
matter between myself and my Maker, and I 
will not make it a matter of politics.*' 

As a matter of fact, my father was a life 
long member of the Episcopal Church, in 
early life trained for the ministry. It became 
necessary, however, that he should provide 
for others while still a young man, and he 
decided to study engineering, that profession 
offering good financial remuneration. His first 
work as a civil engineer took him through the 
dangerous rice swamps of South Carolina, 
where few white men dared to venture; so 
from early youth, his lines were drawn along 
rugged and perilous ways. 

Some of the accusations made against my 
father in the campaign of '56 were ludicrous 
in the extreme, too silly for serious considera- 
tion. He was vehemently attacked for noth- 
ing more than wearing a moustache and 
beard; was called a French actor recently 
from Paris ; a Catholic ; a foreigner straying 
into our country, boldly making an attempt 
to take hold of the reins of government and 
lead it to destruction! 

One of the chief reasons for the defeat of 
that first Eepublican campaign probably was 
the method of election in vogue at the time. 
[78] 



THE CAMPAIGN OF FIFTY-SIX 

The state and national elections were not held 
in all the states on the same day, as is the 
custom now, the state elections in some cases 
being held a month or so previous to the na- 
tional election. This gave the politicians an 
opportunity to forecast the national result, 
and the state elections, in consequence, were 
looked forward to with feverish excitement. 

The result of the state election in Pennsyl- 
vania was watched anxiously by both parties, 
the successful party in that election being 
regarded as a forerunner of the winner in the 
national contest. When the news reached 
New York that Pennsylvania had gome Dem- 
ocratic, the hopes of the Republican party 
waned. Defeat seemed certain a month hence 
but the workers did not dream of forsaking 
the ship for a moment, working valiantly, 
hoping against hope for success. 

Election day dawned, however, and with 
the setting sun came the verdict. The Demo- 
cratic party was victorious. The words of 
Mr. Preston were indeed a prophecy : 

* * Come with us ; we are going to win ! ^ ^ 

My father took the defeat calmly, cheer- 
fully bowing to the will of the majority. Mr. 
Blair and myself, however, did not take the 
loss with such good grace, and at the break- 
fast table the next morning, Mr. Blair broke 
[79] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

down, crushed with the bitterness of the de- 
feat. 

To a girl of fourteen, the result of the elec- 
tion was more than the loss of one great 
party pitted against another. My life in 
Washington, as a member of Senator Ben- 
ton ^s household, had implanted in my young 
heart a love of political honors, and the White 
House loomed up as a delightful place to 
spend four years or more. Now with the 
hopes of a season or two at the White House 
dashed from me, I lost control of my emotions 
and burst into a paroxysm of tears. I re- 
fused to be comforted, and as my continued 
weeping began to distress my mother she 
told me to dress for the street and take a long 
walk. Still crying, I put on my coat and hat 
and my mother tied a thick green barege veil 
over my face, winding it round and round to 
hide my eyes, inflamed from incessant weep- 
ing, and said: 

^ * Now go and walk ! ' ' 

Thus garbed, I walked Washington Square, 
retracing my footsteps again and again, 
weeping copiously the while, for my tears 
would not be stayed despite the vigorous 
walk in the brisk air of the morning. I reso- 
lutely kept at it, however, until my self con- 
trol returned and I made my way back home, 
none too joyously perhaps, but still resigned 
[80] 



THE CAMPAIGN OF FIFTY-SIX 

to the fact that the glamor of life in the White 
House was not for me to enjoy. 

When I reached home, my mother talked to 
me on the necessity for courage with which to 
face the defeats of life, a heart-to-heart talk 
which has served me in good stead many a 
time and oft, when in later life, events tinged 
with a tragedy more poignant than defeat in 
a political contest, have touched me with none 
too gentle a hand. 

The spring after the close of the campaign 
of '56, we sailed for Paris, partly on account 
of my mother's health, the strain of the ex- 
citing campaign telling upon her, and partly 
to say goodbye to my Aunt Susie, whose hus- 
band had been appointed French Consul to 
India, the family about to take up their resi- 
dence in that country. 

We were not long in Paris before we were 
recalled to the United States by the illness of 
my Grandfather Benton, but after remaining 
a while at his home in Washington, started 
for California, having been assured that my 
grandfather was on the way to recovery. 

We made the trip to California by the 
Isthmus Route, making our home at Bear 
Valley, in Mariposa County, where was situ- 
ated the mining estate of my father. We had 
scarcely reached the town, however, when 
the news of the death of my grandfather came 
[81] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

to US, and we then learned that through his 
desire to save my mother all unnecessary- 
anxiety, he had forbidden his physician to 
make known to her the dangerous nature of 
his illness. 

The days were filled with sorrow at the 
thought of the broken home in far away Wash- 
ington, the death of my grandfather being 
deeply felt by my mother, who had been his 
companion and confidant throughout all her 
life. But life in the new country was too 
earnest to permit of useless repining, and we 
gradually adjusted ourselves to its circum- 
stances, though we no longer looked upon 
Washington as home. 



[82] 



BEAE VALLEY 

/^UE cottage wa« near the tiny mining vil- 
^^^ lage of Bear Valley, named as was the 
range to the south of it, from the grizzlies 
that made the place their rendezvous. The 
bears often came to feast at the hog ranch not 
far from the enclosed patch of twelve acres 
that made a park-like pasture around our cot- 
tage. The big white oaks and bunches of 
undergrowth near by lent their beauty to the 
scene, and the whitewashed cottage, with its 
plank walls, papered over cotton, was quite a 
pretentious home in those days, and in that 
country. The French wall paper purchased 
by my mother in the village of Mariposa thir- 
teen miles away, was quite artistic, and when 
we added two fine brick chimneys to the place, 
we felt that we had a real home in the wilder- 
ness. 

The heat of the summer was hard to bear, 
and neither meat or vegetables could be had 
when we first made the place our home, 
canned food and rice being our principal diet. 
We had with us a maid whom we loved to call 
[83] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

our ^ ^ Irish Eose, ' ' and a French woman who 
was an excellent cook. 

Soon after we settled in Bear Valley, an 
Italian began to raise fresh vegetables. My 
father gave the gardener the waste water 
from the steam quartz mill, and we always 
had a bountiful supply of good things to eat, 
after the first crop had been gathered in that 
Italian garden. My own poultry yard not 
only afforded me an endless amount of plea- 
sure, but also enabled me to keep the family 
well supplied with chickens, turkeys and 
ducks, so that, although we were on the fringe 
of civilization, we illustrated the fact that 
' ' where there is a will, there is a way. * ^ 

When we came to Bear Valley, we were 
warned by the settlers in the vicinity that 
between the Indians, the Mexicans and the 
Chinese of the neighborhood, everything 
movable would be stolen from us, but though 
plenty of petty thieving went on in the neigh- 
borhood, we never suffered from it in the 
least degree. The Indian women helped with 
the laundry work in our family, and would not 
carry away even a discarded tin can without 
asking permission to take it — the Indians 
using the cans for sauce pans in their crude 
attempts at housekeeping. 

The friendliest relations always existed be- 
tween the Indians and our family, my father 
[84] 



BEAR VALLEY 

permitting no one to disturb them in their 
ranches or at their springs. The Indian 
women had made seats for themselves under 
the shade of the big pine tree that stood be- 
tween our cottage and the kitchen — the latter 
a separate building — and there the squaws 
were wont to gather at the close of day, or to 
rest from their berry- or fagot-gathering at 
noontide. Their favorite lunch consisted of 
a sandwich made of bread, suet and turnip 
peelings, and we always made it a point to 
have a supply of these dainties ready for 
them. 

One day the squaws were returning from 
the fields, when my mother noticed that their 
baskets were filled with a mixture of mush- 
rooms and toadstools. By means of a sign 
language and a few Mexican words, mother 
explained to the women that the toadstools 
would kill them, and in order to illustrate 
this to them, she put some of the toadstools 
in a sauce pan, cooked them and dropped in 
a piece of silver, to show them how the poi- 
sonous mass blackened the bright silver. The 
squaws watched the process with much inter- 
est, and then the spokeswoman of the party 
replied : 

'' Kill white woman; not kill Indian,*' and 
taking a liberal portion of the toadstools, 
smiled and said : 

[85] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

*^ Come to-morrow! " 

The woman did come ^^ to-morrow,'^ the 
toadstools apparently having not the slight- 
est effect upon her. 

Coming almost direct to Bear Valley from 
Paris, we had a bountiful supply of dainty 
muslins, and it was the delight of the Indian 
women to gaze upon the bits of feminine 
finery. Years after, when we said goodbye 
to the place, the same groups of women sur- 
rounded our cottage, sincerely sorry to see 
us go, their lamentations mingled with the oft 
repeated words : 

*^ Good women! *' 

Nowhere else did the wild flowers ever 
seem so beautiful as at Bear Valley, and I 
rode afar into the mountains in search of 
them. The Indian men often brought me long 
withes wound round with flowers, from places 
inaccessible to me, and the white men of the 
neighborhood were astounded at this atten- 
tion of the Indians to a mere girl. 

My father's life at Bear Valley was filled 
with business cares, in connection with the 
development of the mining estate. For me, 
the life was filled with pleasure, for it was 
my first taste of country life, and I was young 
enough to enjoy its novelty. The estate came 
into our possession in rather a novel manner. 
My father had left a friend money with 
[86] 



BEAR VALLEY 

which to buy a Mission farm that he knew 
would soon be for sale, and the friend did 
buy the farm, but he bought it for himself. 
The Mariposa was then a cattle range of 
forty-three thousand acres, apparently of 
little value, and the friend bought this for 
father, the native Californian owner being 
glad to get rid of it. In earlier days, my 
father had fought bands of horse thieves on 
the same range, years before gold was 
dreamed of in California. 

At Bear Valley, my mother was like an 
exile, for she was not interested in mines, 
horses or chickens, but she cheerfully made 
the best of conditions and never complained. 
The horses entered into the daily lives of my 
father and myself, and I rode with him to 
the mines and mills, though from a persist- 
ent fear of the tunnels, I never entered any 
of the mines. I often watched the liquid 
gold run from the retorts into the moulds, 
and admired the beauty of the colors, looking 
for all the world like a drift-wood fire. 

Our rides ranged from the mills, on the 
banks of the Merced Eiver, the dam requir- 
ing thousands of trees, to the Guadaloupe 
Mine at the far diagonal line of the forty- 
three thousand acre estate. 

At one time, the Guadaloupe Mine was 
[87] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

held by a party of Frenchmen — squatters, as 
we called them — and my father was com- 
pelled to resort to legal measures to induce 
them to surrender. A writ of eviction had 
been issued and given to the sheriff to serve, 
that official declining to act. 

* * The election will be held in a few days, ^ ' 
he told my father, " and if I serve the writ 
I will lose. ' ' 

So, taking the bull by the horns, my father 
served it himself, with the aid of a local law- 
yer. As father rode away to serve the writ, 
the mill blacksmith came into the cottage and 
asked for a mule and my father's Derringers. 

^* I am told there will be shooting when 
the Colonel attempts to serve the writ,'' he 
said, *^ and I know he is not armed." 

I gave the blacksmith the best mule on the 
place and the necessary ammunition, and 
sent him hurrying after my father. There 
was no shooting, however, and so diplomat- 
ically had my father arranged the matter 
that the squatters invited him to remain to 
lunch, which he did. My father effected a 
sort of compromise with the men, willing to 
grant them every privilege and courtesy, and 
only anxious to protect his own rights. When 
he left the mine, he was invited to bring the 
family to lunch with the squatters, the host 
adding : 

[88] 



BEAR VALLEY 

^' Be sure and bring the little boys who 
can speak French." 

We accepted the invitation a few weeks 
later, and dined sumptuously on sweet ome- 
lette, eggs not being common in that part of 
the country and considered a luxurious feast, 
the lunch topped off with good French coffee, 
as only the French know how to make it. 

** Ayah,'' a mountain bred horse and a 
pale dapper cream colored beauty with silver 
mane and tail, showing an Arab strain, were 
my favorite horses. To the latter I had given 
the name ^* Chiquita " (dear little one), a 
name perfectly suited to her. 

A cattle ranger told us that he had a horse 
that surpassed all others, and he was going 
to present it to me, as it was gay and spirited 
and just the horse for a young girl to ride 
through the mountains. We were seated on 
the porch one evening when the ranger rode 
up with his horse. Mother and I exchanged 
glances, and almost simultaneously, we 
named it ^^ Becky Sharp." 

Succeeding events proved that we named 
the animal well, for like the original Becky, 
she had good qualities deeply buried, and 
cleverness. She was an alert cow pony, and 
once treated me to an exciting adventure, 
when she ran away. Bucking three times, in 
the good old fashion, with her head down, 
[89] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

her back raised like an angry cat, her feet 
gathered together, she went up in the air 
and came down with her head where her tail 
had been. After this vigorous exercise, 
Becky stopped to breathe. I seized the op- 
portunity and jumped off; she had hunched 
the saddle onto her neck. She would not 
allow a crupper and I was two miles from 
home and I could not get the saddle on her 
again for she was a mistress in the art of 
inflation when cinching was attempted. 

While in this predicament two teams ap- 
proached, driven by men with whom our 
family did not pass the time of day. They 
were bringing the wagon loads of ore to 
the mill from the mine their company had 
** jumped '' on my father's estate. I knew 
they were Americans, and that they would be 
nice to a girl who needed help — so I walked 
to meet them, leading Becky. 

** That is an ornary brute,'' one of the 
men declared as he proceeded to cinch her so 
tight that I finally cried for mercy. 

After I had mounted her, he said : 

^* Eun her until she begs off, and after 
you get her home never ride her again. If 
you do, I'll tell the Colonel! " 

I never did ride Becky again and a few 
days later she was permitted to take her own 
[90] 




Miss Fremont and "Chiciuita 



BEAB VALLEY 

way to her home ranch, the grass being good 
at that time of the year. 

The ^^ jumping '' of mines was a serious 
matter in California during our residence 
there, and was often the cause of blood- 
shed. A law had been passed making it legal 
to ** jump '' a mine if it was found empty. 
My father lost the Black Drift Mine under 
this law, the guard left at the mine having 
been bribed to leave it long enough for 
another to take possession. 

An attempt was made to take the Pine 
Tree Mine, not by bribing the men in charge, 
for those men were not of the calibre that 
could be bribed, but by starving the men 
into abandoning it. The invaders thought 
the property was unguarded, but far back 
in the mine there were five men at work 
under the mining captain Ketton, when a 
band of men demanded the surrender of the 
property. Our men refused to leave the 
mine, and the attacking party settled at its 
mouth, determined to starve the men into 
submission. Within a few hours, one hun- 
dred men were camped on the hill slope, re- 
fusing to allow anyone to enter the mine, 
and against this band my father had but 
twenty-seven men to defend his property. 
The siege began in earnest, and our impris- 
oned men had plenty of fresh air, which 
[91] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

came from an abandoned shaft. They had 
water also, but no food, and none of my 
father's men were permitted to go near the 
mine, much less send in supplies for the 
miners. 

The entrance to the Pine Tree Mine was 
near the top of a mountain, rising sharply 
above it, and descending below into a winding 
canyon known as ** Hell's Hollow," on ac- 
count of the numerous accidents to man and 
beast in going over its rough trail. On the 
road a broad space was leveled at the mouth 
of the mine leading to the mill, and on this 
broad space the enemy camped. They were 
relieved every few hours by other men, and 
their provisions were brought to them 
through '' Hell's Hollow." My father sta- 
tioned men at the entrance of this canyon who 
examined each load, permitting all provisions 
to pass, but destroying all liquor. His one 
thought was to keep the enemy sober, and 
thus have a better chance to avoid bloodshed 
during the siege. 

Two great problems confronted my father, 
how to get word to the Governor of Califor- 
nia at Sacramento, and how to get food to 
his imprisoned men in the mine. The latter 
question was finally solved by the plucky 
Mrs. Ketton, a slim dark-haired young- 
woman from the mountains of Virginia. 
[92] 



BEAB VALLEY 

When the supper hour arrived the first night 
of the siege, Mrs. Ketton filled a market 
basket with food for the ^ve men, walking 
by the guards at the entrance of the mine, 
as no man dared do, for the guns of the be- 
siegers loomed up threateningly. 

* * No food allowed ; you cannot enter, ' ' the 
guards told the little woman. 

*^ I am going to enter,'* calmly replied the 
wife of the mine's captain, *^ and so is this 
food going into the mine. Not even the 
Colonel could stop me from bringing food to 
my man.'' 

' * We will shoot you if you try it, ' ' replied 
the guards. 

^* Shoot away," responded Mrs. Ketton. 
** It's a pretty name you'll leave behind you 
— shooting a woman for carrying supper to 
her husband." 

With this retort, the little woman marched 
fearlessly by them and into the mine. That 
problem was solved, and twice a day during 
the five long days of the siege, she carried 
the food in to the men, a layer of powder and 
balls at the bottom of the basket, for fear 
that her husband might need protection. 

After the storm was over, Mrs. Ketton 
said to my mother : 

** How I should have liked to have worn 
[93] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON PEEMONT 

your French dresses into the mine. I could 
have carried revolvers in to the men/' 

Crinoline was in vogue then and the 
French dresses would probably have con- 
cealed more ammunition than could be car- 
ried beneath the narrow skirted calico of the 
dress worn by Mrs. Ketton. 

Several times my father was afraid that 
the enemy would fire on the plucky little 
woman, and perhaps the thought that they 
would be dead men before the sound of their 
guns died away in the hills, helped to stay 
their hands, as well as their unwillingness 
to shoot a woman. 

The mails were too slow in those days for 
messages of importance, and the telegraph 
was only a dream of the future. My father 
wanted to hurry an express messenger to the 
governor of the state, but every pass leading 
southward from the valley into Sacramento 
was picketed with armed men. 

A young Englishman who was visiting our 
family offered to go by the northward route 
and start an express to the governor, 
but my father would not consent to it, 
as the youth was sent to us to recuperate 
after years of overstudy in London. Osten- 
sibly I gave in to my father's wishes in the 
matter, but when father returned to the mine, 
where he spent each night watching his men 
[94] 



BEAB VALLEY 

and his property, I started the young Eng- 
lishman north over Mt. Bullion and into 
Lyon^s Gulch, a rough valley that led along 
the River Merced. Mounted on my horse, 
^^ Ayah,'' he started northward, star- guided 
along the way, until he reached Coulterville, 
a law-abiding town, where he obtained a 
messenger to go to Governor Downey at Sac- 
ramento, acquaint him with conditions at 
The Mariposa estate, and solicit help for my 
father in protecting his property. 

The governor immediately sent his own 
messenger post haste to the scene of the 
trouble, informing the men that they did not 
have even the shadow of the law in their 
favor in thus attempting to force a man to 
abandon his property in order that they 
might *^ jump '' it, and commanding them to 
disband forthwith, or the militia would be 
called to the mines. 

The men obeyed and the siege of the Pine 
Tree Mine was at an end after five days of 
tense anxiety that were especially hard on 
my mother, who feared for the safety of my 
father as well as for his men. 

During the siege, my father made speeches 

to the men, urging them to disband, and a 

New York business man who happened to be 

in the country at the time, told my mother 

[95] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

that during one of those speeches he counted 
eleven rifles leveled at my father. As mother 
flinched at the news, the New Yorker added : 

^^ But as many of the Colonel's men had 
* drawn a bead ' upon the enemy.'' 

The mines were some miles away from our 
cottage, and father rode alone during those 
perilous days, riding his favorite horse, 
** Jim," a fine Calif ornian that answered the 
Mohammedan description of the original 
horse : 

*^ Condensed by Allah from the southwest 
wind, a red sorrel with a white star on its 
forehead, and a long mane and tail." 

From a window that commanded a view of 
the road as it turned the hillside, my mother 
watched for my father during the siege of 
the Pine Tree Mine. She watched to see if 
father was in the saddle, or if ^^ Jim " was 
being led, riderless. Finally, the strain be- 
came so great that she relinquished her seat 
at the window, and calling to me, said : 

*' I don't believe I can see clearly. You 
watch for your father. ' ' 

The women at our cottage had to bear their 
full share of the trouble at the mine, my 
father remaining so much of the time with 
his men, until finally the enemy thought they 
could induce him to surrender by making 
[96] 



BEAR VALLEY 

threats upon us. So in due time, a written 
notice was served upon us, in which we were 
told that the men were ** bound to have their 
rights, ' ' and while they did not want to make 
war upon defenseless women and children, 
they would give us twenty-four hours to pack 
up and leave. Otherwise, they would burn 
the house over our heads and then the Col- 
onel would be killed. 

My father was at the mines when this no- 
tice was served upon us, and without consult- 
ing anyone, mother told Isaac, our Tennessee 
mountain driver and hunter, that she wanted 
to drive to the village, explaining the reason. 

Wearing our prettiest Paris muslins, 
touched off with plenty of ribbons, we started 
out, stopping at the Bear Valley Village Inn, 
where my mother showed the notice to the 
landlord. She asked him to tell the writers 
of that message that the house and land was 
ours, and that we intended to remain upon it. 
** If the house is burned, '' she said, '^ we 
will camp on the land, and if the men kill the 
Colonel as threatened, then we will sell the 
property to a corporation that is anxious to 
buy it, and the property will come under the 
control of men who will be much harder to 
deal with than Colonel Fremont.'^ After 
delivering her ultimatum, forgetful for the 
[97] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

moment of where she was, she turned to 
Isaac, and gave him the city formula : 

' * Home, Isaac ! ' ' 

Home, amid such turmoil! 

Isaac patrolled the grounds every night, 
but despite all the vigilance, bombs of pow- 
der in tin cans awakened us a few nights 
later, as they burst near our home. Mother 
offered to get shelter in the village for our 
women but neither of them would leave us. 
The Irish girl would not think of abandoning 
us in our hour of trouble, and Meme, the 
French girl, said it reminded her of the three 
July days in Paris in ^48, when she had 
taken her turn at building barricades, and 
liked it. 

After the trouble was settled, a committee 
of women living in Mariposa and on the 
plains beyond, came riding in to see mother, 
to thank her for having remained throughout 
the disturbance. 

*^ Had you given up and left the cottage, '' 
they said, * ' our hills would have run blood. ' ' 

The women were picturesque in their blue 
merino dresses, wide knitted collars, hats 
loaded down with flowers and ribbons, their 
hoop skirts lifted up over the pommels. 
They had to ride to our home and yet wanted 
to enter the cottage dressed in their *' Sun- 
day best, ' ' rather than in their riding habits. 
[98] 



BEAB VALLEY 

The last straw of the anxiety of those days 
was laid upon mother, when one of my small 
brothers cut his knee to the tendons while 
playiQg with a hatchet. It was thirteen miles 
to Mariposa, where there lived an excellent 
surgeon — excellent when sober, but just then 
he was on one of his prolonged sprees — and 
Stockton, the home of the next nearest doc- 
tor, was eighty-four miles away. A German 
chemist working on the estate (whose exper- 
ience in surgery had been gained in Heidel- 
burg duels) took care of the lad and pre- 
vented the knee from stiffening. 

As things quieted down in the valley, my 
father took mother to San Francisco and 
when they returned to Bear Valley, we all 
prepared for a trip to the Yosemite. 



[99] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

JUST as we were leaving the cottage for 
Yosemite, a group of lawyers arrived to 
try a suit in the Mariposa Court, a suit in 
which my father was interested, for though 
he had bought and paid for his property and 
held the patents thereto, he was constantly 
called upon to defend it. 

So mother was obliged to remain at home 
while we started out for the Yosemite. Our 
party consisted of myself, a cousin, a friend 
from New York and her brother, and the 
three men who accompanied us. We took the 
Coulterville trail, the Mariposa trail being 
too snow bound, even though it was then late 
in May. We rode our own horses, passed and 
explored a beautiful cave, where a flat-bot- 
tom boat lay afloat on its deep blue water, 
and as the road rose into the mountains, we 
saw long stretches of white azalias in bloom. 
We camped at night. 

The snow was very deep and had we not 

caught up with a dweller in the valley who 

was returning with his provision-laden pack 

mules, we would have been forced to return. 

[101] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

We forded the two Cascade Creeks, descend- 
ed the mountain into the valley, and camped 
on the bank of the Eiver Merced, at the foot 
of El Capitan. The animals were too hot 
and tired to swim across the icy current until 
the next morning, when our saddles and 
small baggage were taken across with us in 
a little dug-out. The land for some distance 
beyond the river was still too marshy to be 
ridden over, without miring the horses, so 
we made our way to the *^ Two Transpar- 
encies '^ that served as hotels, walking along 
the base of the mountain. 

Our guide, who crossed the river the night 
previously, foreseeing a big rain, told the 
men in the valley that three women were 
coming, and when we arrived we found that 
the men had erected a cabin of hand-cut 
planks and shingles — the first house made of 
lumber to be erected in the Yosemite. The 
cabin was about ten feet square, the floor and 
door of solid plank. We were tired and slept 
throughout the night, unheeding the patter of 
the raindrops as they fell on the first roof in 
the Yosemite Valley. The men of the party 
took turns at watching our little cabin, which 
looked at times as though it would float away 
into the river on whose banks it was built. 

The canvas roofs of the log hut hotels of 
the valley leaked and we kept out of them 
[102] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

during the frequent showers. The hunters 
shared their venison and road runners 
with us, birds common in the far west, so 
named because they preferred running to 
flying, and the Indians speared river trout 
for us. We traveled many miles on foot, the 
trails buried under water after the heavy 
rain falls of the early spring. 

We crossed a marshy meadow to Mirror 
Lake, the men carrying planks and spread- 
ing them before us. 

The Yosemite was perfect in its majestic 
greatness. The heavy rains of the winter 
rendered the falls even more beautiful than 
usual, the Bridal Veil being of fairy-like 
beauty. The Nevada Falls were beautiful 
too, the lake had a charm that abides with me 
still, but the mountains appealed to me still 
more. The river and its rapids were bor- 
dered with wild dogwood just beginning to 
bloom, while a myriad of tiny flowers 
starred the meadow along the way. 

The trip to the Yosemite contrasts 
strangely with a trip through the same val- 
ley to-day. No women are now allowed to 
ride side saddles, they must wear divided 
skirts and ride valley-trained horses on ac- 
count of the attending dangers. In view of all 
this, I like to record that we three women of 
the merry party of the long ago, rode our 
[103] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON" FBEMONT 

usual home horses, used side saddles and 
wore the regulation riding habits. The latter 
we wore whether riding or climbing and we 
made the trip with ease and comfort, though 
the roads were unusually rough and fatigu- 
ing. We left the valley with our animals in 
good condition, though we often rode through 
water to our saddle girths, the stones under- 
neath loose and rolling and especially dan- 
gerous to the horses. 

When we returned to Bear Valley, we 
found that the lawyers had transferred the 
suit to San Francisco, so mother was left 
alone while father went with them. 

We wanted to make up to mother for her 
disappointment in not making the trip to the 
Yosemite, and so we started out to see the 
Mariposa Big Trees, then known as 
** Clark's Grove." The trip was easy, 
made part way in carriages and part way on 
horse back in side saddles, and the first 
night out we spent in a long shed-like cot- 
tage, outside which were the stumps of three 
great oak trees, over which were stretched 
great feather beds. At the edge of the 
stumps there grew three little locust trees, 
and when we expressed our amazement that 
three such trees as the oaks should have been 
cut down, the mistress of the cottage re- 
marked : 

[104] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

^' I'd rather have locusts any day, even if 
they be little.'' 

Our ride up to the Grove was over a pine- 
needle covered trail, through a flower 
scented forest of trees near the Sequoias. 
The trees would be considered big elsewhere, 
but there in close proximity to the largest 
trees in the world, they were little noticed. 

We made our camp in the grove near 
Clark's cabin, on the banks of the Merced 
Eiver. "While we had heard about the great 
trees, as we rode among them we realized 
that we had no conception of their majestic 
grandeur until we had seen them, as indeed 
no one can appreciate them without seeing 
them in their glory. 

Clark guided us through the grove, de- 
lighted with our awe and admiration of 
them, for G-alen Clark, the keeper of the 
grove, was also the discoverer of the trees and 
died among them only a few short years ago. 

Part of the grove had been accidentally 
burned and after our ride through it, we 
reached camp black as the actors in any min- 
strel show could ever hope to be; so we de- 
cided on a bath in the Merced, its glacier- 
like waters eliciting many a piercing scream 
at the first plunge. 

That night our camp mattresses were made 
of a thick pile of soft hemlock twigs, a deep 
[105] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

layer of hay spread over the twigs, and 
blankets stretched upon them. At the sug- 
gestion of Mr. Clark, we set fire to a fallen 
pine tree, to make a night lamp for the 
ladies, as Clark gaily put it, and the great 
tree burned until morning dawned. 

Our New York friend said it was too beau- 
tiful to sleep, and as she had a well-trained 
voice, she entertained us with strains from the 
operas mother most liked, the rest of the 
party joining in the choruses. 

Very many years after, when Galen Clark 
was in his extreme old age — he lived to be 
more than ninety-six — he was passing 
through Los Angeles and called to see my 
mother, telling her that that musical night 
was among his most cherished memories of 
his life in the Mariposas. 

We returned to Bear Valley after our tour 
of the grove, our New York friend going back 
East taking my cousin with her as far as 
New Orleans, where the latter married. 

It grew so hot in Bear Valley that it be- 
came all but impossible to stay there, so my 
father took us up on the Mt. Bullion range 
(the range named for my grandfather), 
more than three thousand feet above where 
our little cottage was situated in the valley. 
The spot offered a beautiful site for a camp, 
[106] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

a short mesa that lay just below the crest 
and faced northward, commanding a view of 
a small forest of sturdy oak trees, State 
Oaks, as they were called in memory of the 
homes left behind. For in those days of no 
railroads, no telegraphs, and with automo- 
biles an unheard of possibility, those homes 
seemed very far indeed. 

There were two fine springs near our sum- 
mer camp, one of them always ice cold; and 
near the larger one was a bowl shaped hol- 
low that sheltered our camp fire and made 
a most convenient kitchen. Near this we ran 
up a pretty little ramada, the posts cut 
in rustic fashion, from some of the small 
trees nearby. The place was thatched with 
branches, mostly from the bay trees in the 
gullies, fragrant and making a delightful 
shade. This made our dining room and the 
view from it was entrancing in its beauty — 
thirty miles as the crow flies, across dove- 
tailing mountains, much lower than the one 
upon which we camped. 

From the base of the mountain, we caught 
occasional glimpses of the Merced Kiver, 
winding its way through to the plains from 
the Yosemite Valley, whence it escaped 
through the great cleft at the edge of which 
El Capitan stands sentinel. In that clear 
[107] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

air, it seemed much nearer than thirty miles, 
and now and then we could almost hear the 
murmur of its water. 

The birds were plentiful, and so tame that 
they came close to our group, and seemed to 
inspect us with a critical eye. There were 
some rare wood-peckers, and they were wont 
to sit on the twigs of our rustic posts and 
watch us eat, only flying to a safe distance 
when one of us arose. The quail were thick 
on the mountain, and some of the mother 
birds brought their young right into our 
kitchen to gather up the grain and rice that 
we scattered there daily for them. 

My father would allow no shooting near 
the camp and the birds seemed to decide 
that we did not belong to the usual variety 
of mankind, and were exceedingly friendly 
with us. Their cheery, bright presence 
added much to the pleasure of camp life and 
brought to it more than a touch of natural 
beauty. 

Our tents were strongly built with the 
sides rigged up, awning fashion, the plank 
floors covered with matting, and a dressing 
room arranged near one of the springs. The 
heavy things were taken up to the camp in 
a light wagon drawn by oxen, and the trip 
up the mountain was covered with compara- 
[108] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

tive ease by making a long detour and then 
following along the crest, through the open 
park like growth of trees. 

All other communication with the valley 
below was made on foot or on horse or mule 
back, along a faint trail which led right up 
and down the mountain side. My mother, 
who never liked riding even on a level road, 
made only the one trip up and down, content 
to remain at the camp until we bade it our 
last goodbye. My father, however, rode down 
to the mines and mills almost every morning, 
coming back after the extreme heat of the 
day was spent. 

I often made the trip riding my horse 
Ayah, a sure-footed and always willing car- 
rier, bringing up fresh supplies and taking 
packages down to the laundry, for we had 
left our valley house in commission. I re- 
member one load that I carried up that steep 
mountain side, that gave some trouble both 
to Ayah and to me, for it contained besides 
two puppy dogs, a roll of laundry, some spe- 
cial groceries, a lot of mail and a teapot, 
this last swung to the outer pommel. 

The mail was unusually heavy that day. 

The steamers only came in about every two 

weeks, and besides our home letters, this 

time it brought some of the best new books, 

[109] 



BECOLLECTIONS OP ELIZABETH BENTON FBEMONT 

a package of Eastern papers and a long bar 
of white nougat — the reminders of a persist- 
ently good friend in San Francisco. 

The most troublesome part of that load 
was the two frisky young puppies, which 
were to serve the double purpose of play- 
mates to my two small brothers, and re- 
lieve Bronte our house dog of the care of 
some of her too numerous family. The pup- 
pies were curious as to the contents of my 
various assortment of packages, and several 
times nearly landed them on the ground. 
Ayah and myself were glad enough to be 
safe on the top at last, and turn the squirm- 
ing pets over to the boys. 

There were daily lessons for the boys, in 
the way of stories read or told, and a hunt- 
ing trip with Isaac, a fine hunter himself — 
indeed, a better hunter than he was a cook, 
though he tried to combine both attributes 
at our summer camp. 

Isaac was a good drill master and both boys 
became experts, gaining a knowledge of 
sighting, allowing for wind, etc., which was 
extremely useful to them later in life, in 
connection with the handling of guns. 

My mother gave me lessons in history and 
poetry, as well as reading — a necessary ac- 
complishment of those days — and though I 
[110] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

made some progress in those studies, I must 
confess that I spent more time exploring 
along the crest of the mountain and into its 
deep ravines. My Ayah was mountain bred 
and almost as good as a goat for winding 
his way safely among the hills, and together 
we left no spot of the neighborhood unex- 
plored. 

There was none of the regulation house- 
keeping in the camp and we brought up one 
of the maids, leaving the other below in the 
valley in charge of the house there, the maids 
alternating for the rest and recreation af- 
forded by our life in the mountain. 

We were never left alone, for besides Isaac 
— hunter and cook — there was a man for the 
horses and mules, and Mr. Biddle Boggs, a 
Pennsylvanian who was connected with the 
neighboring mills — a pleasant as well as 
brave man, well accustomed to life on the 
mountainside. Now and then my father 
spared a whole day from his mills and mines 
to enjoy with us the exhilarating mountain 
air, to ride with my mother and myself, and 
to view special points of interest which I had 
discovered in my daily rides. 

One of these scenes was especially beauti- 
ful, giving us a mountain view of the long 
stretch of ever higher mountains, past the 
[111] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

cleft and into the Yosemite, where El Capitan 
stood always on guard, and on beyond into 
Nevada, where Carson's Peak brought an 
end to the vista. 

By merely facing around on the rock, we 
looked down below on the valley, with our 
own little home cottage snugly nestled there 
among the trees. Another view brought the 
small village and one of the quartz mills 
before our eyes across Mt. Oso, where that 
range dwindled abruptly down into small hil- 
locks, and merged into the great plain that 
stretched far away to the timber line of the 
big San Joaquin Eiver. 

Five silver ribbon-like rivers, our own 
Merced among them, flowed down into the 
San Joaquin, beyond which rose the Contra 
Costa Mountains, surely a glorious view, ex- 
tending nearly one hundred and fifty miles — 
from Carson's Peak to Contra Costa! 

We had planned to stay in camp for some 
months leading a very simple life, our only 
visitors groups of Indian women filling their 
big conical baskets with the service berries 
of the mountain side — much like the whortle 
berries of the East. 

These women often stopped to rest and 
drink at the springs surrounding our camp 
and were always made welcome. We talked 
[112] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

with them by means of signs and with the aid 
of a limited vocabulary of Spanish, and grew 
to understand one another fairly well. 
Woman-like, they were always interested in 
our clothes, and were not averse to inspect- 
ing our garments critically. 

Our plans for a long camp life on the 
mountain were not carried out, however, for 
after we had been there but a few weeks, one 
of the Indians with whom we were on 
friendly terms — he was the head man of the 
chief ranch of our valley — came into our 
camp with a warning which we heeded. 

He would not deign to talk to women, but 
he told Mr. Boggs that his tribe and another 
tribe at the north of us were quarreling and 
and that the running fight would lead them 
alongside our camp. As he had not braves 
enough to guaranty our safety, he advised 
Mr. Boggs to ^' get the Coloners women *' 
down to their home in the valley post haste. 

Instantly we were making a hurried de- 
parture, leaving our provisions for the 
friendly Indian and his party, in thankful- 
ness for his warning. 

We mounted our mules and horses, and 
taking with us only such things as could be 
hastily strapped on the pack animals, de- 
scended into the valley, spending the night in 
[113] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

our home there — called the ^* White House '' 
by the Mexicans and Indians. 

There was no irony in the term the natives 
had given our valley home, for they had no 
knowledge of the other White House on the 
banks of the Potomac, where only a few brief 
years before, it had seemed not impossible 
that our home might be cast for a while. 

We sent a message to prevent my father 
returning to the camp, and some days later, 
the oxen went up and brought down what we 
had been obliged to leave in our hurried de- 
parture. The Indians had left most of the 
things undisturbed, as they were intent on 
fighting, not on pillage. 

Some were killed on each side in the drawn 
battle, in which the whites took little inter- 
est, as it was merely a ** family quarrel " 
among the Indians, and settled in the usual 
Indian fashion. We were relieved to know 
that the friendly Indian who had warned us 
of our danger was not hurt, though he was in 
the thick of the fight — avenging the honor of 
his tribe ! 

We found the heat at Bear Valley unbear- 
able, so hot indeed that we often roasted eggs 
in the hot dust of the carriage drive, the 
roasting process being completed within eigh- 
teen minutes ! We made leather shoes for the 
dogs to keep their feet from blistering, the 
[114] 



YOSEMITE AND MOUNT BULLION 

dogs coming to us each morning to put on the 
shoes and in the evening to remove them. 

We soon moved to San Francisco, my 
father returning to Bear Valley whenever it 
became necessary to look after his interests. 



[115] 



BLACK POINT AND WAE DAYS 

WE always made the journey between 
Bear Valley and San Francisco in our 
light carriage drawn by sturdy bays, and at 
one time made the eighty miles to Stockton in 
one day, though the first fourteen miles were 
over a very rough mountain road, using the 
Stockton River steamboat to reach San 
Francisco. 

We liked to break the journey, however, 
and when time permitted we preferred the 
longer route through the San Joaquin Plains, 
by way of Livermore's Pass and into San 
Francisco by the Oakland ferry. 

These trips were filled with interest espe- 
cially in the spring and fall, when the wild 
geese were migrating. We kept as far away 
from their camp as possible in order not to 
disturb them, though we delighted in watch- 
ing the '' officers '^ and '' privates '' in sep- 
arate groups, preparing to break camp. Led 
by the '^ officers,'' the geese rose high in the 
air, where they fell into formation and 
started out on their long flight. 

The plains were then uncultivated and 
[117] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

we drove past long stretches of wild flowers, 
each variety flourishing in its own particu- 
lar field. The nemophila (baby blue eyes) 
almost covered the plains in some parts of 
that country, so that we seemed to drive over 
a sea of blue beneath a sky of lighter hue 
bending above us. 

We took the Stockton steamboat to San 
Francisco in '59, and after we arrived there 
we spent some little time in the pleasurable 
pursuit of house hunting. My father even- 
tually found a place which proved to be a 
case of love at first sight with my mother 
— a tiny cottage built on the edge of the 
bluff, on a small point projecting out into the 
Bay, just across the channel from Alcatraz 
Island. The fort was so close to the cottage 
that when the men were ready to fire their 
Columbiads, they signalled us to open the 
windows to prevent the bursting of the panes. 

My father bought twelve acres with a city 
title from a banker in San Francisco, and we 
settled upon the place as home, for now that 
my Grandfather Benton was no more, my 
mother had no desire to return East. 

We improved the place with walks, drives 
and stables, and the growth of small trees 
rising from the bay and into the sandhills 
gave it its name of '^ Black Point.'' The 
flowers were beautiful, particularly the roses 
[118] 



BLACK POINT AND WAR DAYS 

and fuchsias, and we all loved the spot. Mr. 
Starr King, who was beloved and honored in 
California, for it was felt that he had saved 
the state to the Union, was onr friend and 
frequent visitor. He named our home ' ' The 
Porter's Lodge,'' for the magnificent view it 
commanded of Golden Gate, which my father 
had named before the days of gold, the name 
suggested to him by the golden sunsets, as 
well as in anticipation of the commerce that 
he felt certain would some day come to it 
from the Orient — a dream long since real- 
ized. 

There were several cottages on the Point, 
each having groups of children, so our boys 
had plenty of playmates and one of the girls 
of a neighbojdng cottage was my particular 
chum. Though long years have intervened 
and though this friend of my girlhood is now 
living with her husband and children on 
another arm of the sea (at Tacoma, on Puget 
Sound) she is still my dear friend. 

While we lived at '' Black Point," Bret 
Harte was a constant visitor at our home. 
He was brilliantly clever and intensely shy, 
we were told by a mutual friend, before the 
genius was ever invited to our home, and 
later we felt that the description suited him 
to a dot. As he grew better acquainted, how- 
ever, he was wont to bring his manuscripts 
[119] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BEKTON FREMONT 

to the cottage and go over them with mother, 
who took a real interest in his work. In those 
days Bret Harte was a contributor to a lit- 
erary publication of San Francisco, known 
as the ^^ Golden Era,'' and while he flinched 
under criticism, he always welcomed the 
comment of my mother, who was likewise 
ever ready with liberally given and sin- 
cerely felt praise of his work. While he was 
still a struggling young writer, mother ob- 
tained for him a place in the surveyor gen- 
eral's office, where he was free to write, and 
later she secured other positions for him, 
when the change of officials made it necessary 
for him to seek other employment. After- 
wards when we were living in New York, Bret 
Harte wrote to mother and told her that he 
was not at all afraid of the future and felt 
none of its financial cares. ^ ' For, ' ' he added, 
*^ were I to find myself wrecked on a desert 
island I am sure that a native would ap- 
proach me with a three cornered note from 
Mrs. Frtoont, telling me that I had been 
made Governor of the Island at two thousand 
dollars per year." 

One of the incidents of our life at this time 
was the inauguration of the Pony Ex- 
press. The mail, always an important fac- 
tor when one is so far from home, reached 
us once a month by steamer during our early 
[120] 




John C. Fremont 
After a photograph taken in June, iy9(», a few Meeks before his death 



BLACK POINT AND WAE DAYS 

California days. Later, the overland stage 
was a great improvement and was looked 
upon as quite modern — coming in even severe 
weather, with wonderful regularity. The 
Pony Express was the culmination of rapid- 
ity, carrying only letter mail, at advanced 
charges. We chanced to have gone in to San 
Francisco for our mail on the day when the 
first Pony Express arrived. The street had 
been cleared for the arrival and the sidewalks 
were packed with onlookers. We were asked 
to drive on, when a voice from the crowd 
called out, ** Let Mrs. Fremont's carriage 
stay, for the Colonel blazed that path long 
before the day of the pony rider,'' So we 
remained until welcomed by cheering all 
down the street, the first Pony Express gal- 
loped up, and in the quick distribution our 
letters were handed to us. It was near this 
very spot that we were landed through the 
surf upon our first arrival in California. 

The rumbling of war changed the tone of 
our life at Black Point, and on April 13, 1861, 
while we were discussing the possibility of 
war, the gun fired on Fort Sumter was echo- 
ing throughout the East. 

My father was in London on business con- 
nected with the Mariposas, so it was left to 
mother to prepare to start east. In the midst 
of her plans she was seriously injured when 
[121] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

OTir horses ran away on Eussian Hill, the 
steepest hill in San Francisco, and it was 
weeks before she could leave. 

At the first opportunity, she rented our 
home at Black Point and we left the coast. 
When we crossed the bar and I could no 
longer see our home I went below and stayed 
for some days — supposed to be sea sick, but 
only heart sick. Perhaps it was my Scotch 
intuition that so overwhelmed me with the 
feeling that I was losing my home. 

The steamer on which we sailed carried all 
the soldiers that could be gathered on such 
short notice, plenty of ammunition, a number 
of officers and three millions in treasure. The 
journey down the Pacific was without adven- 
ture and we crossed the Isthmus swiftly, 
this time by rail. After we left Aspinwall, 
now Colon, all this was changed and we 
learned that the steamer was in danger of 
being captured by a Southern privateer. 

An extra lookout was stationed, and not a 
light was allowed on board, though the men 
begged for one so that they might play 
cards. The women were anxious for just a 
ray, even enough to permit them to care for 
the children on board, but the captain was 
resolute and only a faint glimmer flickered 
in the engine room until we reached Sandy 
Hook. 

[122] 



BLACK POINT AND WAR DAYS 

As evening came on during that journey 
the passengers gathered together in groups 
outside their respective cabins, so that they 
would be able to enter their own quarters in 
the gathering gloom. An anxious crowd was 
on board that steamer, but the officers and 
men were cheerful and made every effort to 
quiet the fears of the passengers. 

I remember one of the younger officers 
constantly whistled ^' Dixie.*' 

*^ It is a good marching tune,** he said. 
** I know that I cannot even think of it on 
shore, so I am going to whistle it to my 
heart's content on the seal ** 

When the steamer was well out at sea, the 
captain took my mother and a merchant who 
was on board into his confidence and told 
them that he was going to take the ship out 
of the usual course, so that it would not be 
possible to stop for the mail, in which both 
my mother and the merchant were inter- 
ested; my mother for news of father who 
might be in the field, and the merchant for 
news of his ships, that might have been taken 
captive. 

'^ My sympathy is with the South,** said 
the captain, ^' but I promised the Vander- 
bilts that I would take their ship safely back 
to them and then resign and go to North 
Carolina, and I mean to keep my word.** 
[123] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

He explained that the Sumter would be 
apt to lie in wait off a small island in the 
West Indies, where the steamer usually 
stopped for the mail, and that his ship could 
be easily taken as it had no means of resist- 
ing. So the steamer followed the route 
through the Caicos passage, a route only 
used by fruit schooners. While this plan 
meant that there would be no news until the 
steamer reached port, both my mother and 
the merchant heartily agreed with the plans 
of the captain, and there was no sign of 
trouble until as we were off the Carolinas the 
cry, '^ A sail,'' aroused the passengers. 

In the distance we saw a long low ship, 
with every sail set, swiftly following our 
tracks. Our steamer was not a racer by any 
means and the fleet little ship trying to over- 
take us was the dreaded Jeff Davis, which 
had been the swiftest slaver afloat. The wind 
was fair and the enemy was gaining on us, 
while the captain made herculean efforts to 
push our steamer on to safety. Officers were 
placed in charge of the troops and treasure, 
and the captain told the commanding officer 
that he would get the steamer away if pos- 
sible. 

^* Make it possible," replied the officer. 
** Neither the men nor the treasure on board 
[124] 



BLACK POINT AND WAR DAYS 

are going to be taken. You save the steamer 
or I will sink her ! ' ' 

Men were posted by the magazine, while 
others were grouped around the engine to 
see that all speed safely possible was made. 
The two shots fired by the Jeff Davis fortu- 
nately fell short of the mark, the wind died 
out and our steamer escaped from the enemy, 
our flag proudly throwing its folds to the 
breeze, as if to cheer the brave men on board 
who were ready to sink the ship rather than 
surrender. 

Few of the passengers slept the night fol- 
lowing that exciting experience, and, after 
landing, we learned that the Sumter had 
waited for three days off the island that the 
steamer had avoided. 

The captain who proved so true to his 
trust resigned after reaching New York, and 
before the war was over he became one of the 
bravest and most successful of the Southern 
blockade runners. 

The Bay of New York is always beautiful 
but it seemed more beautiful than ever, as it 
eame into sight of the passengers of that 
steamer, worn out with the excitement and 
fears of the voyage. 

We found my father awaiting us at the 
wharf and in a few days we were on our way 
to St. Louis, where my father had been given 
[125] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

the command of the Western Department. 
As we passed through Altoona we were over- 
whelmed with the news of the defeat of our 
forces at the first Bull Eun. 

There were busy days ahead at St. Louis, 
drilling the troops, transforming the ferry 
boats into gunboats, reinforcing the outposts 
and developing raw troops into an army 
ready for the field. Martial law had been 
declared and the women formed sewing cir- 
cles, anxious to do their part for the men who 
must face the roar of the cannon. 

The sympathy of the city was largely with 
the South, and it was a difficult matter for 
the war sewing circle to find a place to hold 
its meetings, until a German woman opened 
her home for the cause. I remember that the 
women who stood with the North made it a 
custom to carry their knitting into the public 
places and streets of the city, to show their 
colors as it were, and many a women have I 
seen putting an odd stitch now and then into 
a sock for a soldier afield, while she was on 
her way to the sewing circle headquarters. 

I remember too, that after I had presented 
my quota of knitted socks, I was told that 
they would do for hospital use, for as no 
two were of the same size, they would be 
suitable only for men who had lost a leg. 

It was during those days in St. Louis that 
[126] 



BLACK POINT AND WAR DAYS 

my father established the first Union Depot 
in this coTintry, a system pretty generally 
followed now by every city of any import- 
ance. 

It was then, too, that my father sent Gen. 
U. S. Grant to Cairo to take command of the 
district of South East Missouri. 

Miss Dorothea Dix, organizer of the Na- 
tional Hospitals, was a guest at our home in 
St. Louis in those days of preparation for 
war, and my mother accompanied her on her 
trips through the hospitals. 

At Jefferson Barracks they came upon 
fever patients, too ill to help themselves, with 
mugs of black coffee and pieces of salt pork 
laid upon their chests. The men who had 
offered their lives for their country ^s cause 
were too ill with the fever to raise the crude 
food to their lips; there were no tables or 
hospital accessories, and so the food was laid 
upon their chests, in order that they might 
get it when required. In another hospital 
there were no shades on the windows, and the 
sun blazed in upon the sick and dying men; 
there were no funds with which to purchase 
supplies, and my mother took it upon herself 
to see that the boys in blue had at least the 
comforts of civilization. Before nightfall 
she had blue shades himg on the windows of 
[127] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

the hospital, fitted it out with bedside tables, 
and bought up all the china mugs in town. 

From St. Louis we went to New York, 
making our home there and on the Hudson, 
near Tarrytown and Peekskill, where the 
boys went to preparatory school for West 
Point and Annapolis. 

While we lived on the Hudson, my father 
and I spent much of our time riding, he on 
his Irish hunter, a sorrel beauty, ^^ Don 
Totoi,'^ and I on my thoroughbred Kentucky 
mare that had v the proud record of having 
made a ninety-six mile reconnoitering march 
in twenty-four hours during the war. 

We rode from Peekskill to New York, and 
from the Hudson to the Sound, over roads 
that were none too good but enjoying every 
mile of the way. 

My mother occupied herself during those 
years with her music and with charities, her 
favorite charity being that concerning chil- 
dren. When supplies were being contributed 
to the stricken South, the matter of deliver- 
ing them presented a problem not easily 
solved. Through her appeal to General 
N. P. Banks, then a member of Congress, a 
man-of-war was detailed for this purpose, 
the courtesy not only settling the question of 
delivering the supplies without cost, but 
proving a great factor in cementing a bond 
[128] 



BLACK POINT AND WAB DAYS 

of friendship between the North and South. 
In those days more than ten millions of 
supplies including food and farming imple- 
ments, were contributed by the North and 
sent to our brothers in the South. 

Our boys were interested in sailing and 
skating on the river, and our Hudson home 
was gay and happy. It was built of rough 
gray stone and surrounded by trees, com- 
manding a splendid view of Haverstraw Bay 
and the Catskills. From this home we started 
on one of our trips to Paris, and while we 
were in that city we received a message from 
a friend in Copenhagen inviting us to come 
there for the marriage feast of the present 
King and Queen of Denmark, who were then 
very young. 

We had planned a tour of Switzerland, but 
upon receipt of the message from our friend, 
we hurried to Copenhagen. Most of the so- 
ciety functions were over for the summer, 
but Queen Louise graciously gave a special 
audience to my mother and myself, who were 
presented by the wife of the American Min- 
ister. 

The Queen indicated that the wife of the 
minister need not remain in the salon, so she 
withdrew to join the ladies-in-waiting, while 
Queen Louise received us alone, talking of 
the coming festivities and showing us a fine 
[ 129 ] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

marble bust which she told us had just ar- 
rived from her ^^ dear son, the Prince of 
Wales/' — the late Edward the Seventh of 
England. 

We were included in all the marriage fes- 
tivities, from the wedding breakfast to the 
big ball, the social event of the moment. At 
the ball, mother was invited to stand behind 
the queen with the ladies in waiting, and was 
invited to the royal table for supper. 

While my mother stood close to the queen 
a guest asked me to point out to her the 
American lady present. I showed her my 
mother. 

^^ That lady in violet and white, with the 
white hair? '' she asked. 

I told her that was the American lady, and 
she replied : 

'^ That's an Englishwoman; her hair is 
dressed to suit her face, and not to suit the 
prevailing fashion." 

Finally, I told her that I knew the lady I 
had pointed out was the American lady, for 
I was her daughter. 

' ' Why, ' ' she declared, ' ^ are you an Amer- 
ican? Your hair is not dressed in the 
fashion, either! " 

An incident of the royal ball at Copen- 
hagen that remains with me, concerns the 
entry of the Queen Dowager into the ball- 
[130] 



BLACK POINT AND WAK DAYS 

room. Everyone was dancing, music floated 
through the rooms, when at the approach of 
the Queen Dowager all was silent ; the music 
ceased and the dancers fell back, while the 
King walked forward to meet her, escorting 
her to the chair by the throne, the Dowager 
Queen being the aunt of the King. I remem- 
ber that she wore a gray moire gown, lace 
trimmed, with high neck and long sleeves, a 
large diamond studded watch her most strik- 
ing ornament. The blaze of the diamonds 
made her a true picture of a fairy god- 
mother, into whose lap the cornucopia of 
wealth had been upturned. 

Before we left Copenhagen, the mistress 
of the robes, at the request of Queen Louise, 
asked mother where my clothes were made, 
as ^ ^ some of my dresses were more chic than 
anything in the trousseau of the Princess 
Eoyal.^' 

During our six weeks ' stay in Copenhagen, 
we met Hans Christian Andersen, who was 
greatly interested in hearing through us of 
the true appreciation the American nation 
had for his works. He read to us, at his own 
suggestion, his latest manuscript story, 
(I rpijg Thistle,'' a compliment we were told 
we should value highly. An English speak- 
ing friend gave us an abridged translation, 
so we followed his Danish easily. 
[131] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

My father was recalled to the United 
States on business, mother accompanying 
him, while I remained in Dresden to superin- 
tend the education of my youngest brother. 
I was in Dresden when the French minister 
offered the affront to King William at Ems, 
and I felt that war would follow. Accordingly 
I made plans to return to America, and when 
at two o'clock one summer afternoon, war 
had been declared, I started for New York 
at five o'clock the same day, taking the last 
passenger train out of Dresden. 

We passed through Berlin as the crowd 
had assembled to receive King William on 
his return, and at Hamburg were detained 
four days, hoping to have a convoy of Ger- 
man men-of-war take the steamer through 
the channel. This request of the steamship 
company was not granted, however, and we 
sailed by way of Heligoland, along the coast 
of Scotland, keeping in sight of land, and 
passing the Orkneys, then on to Newfound- 
land and into New York — the last German 
passenger steamer afloat until after the close 
of the Franco-Prussian war. 

Our beautiful home by the Hudson was 

later swept away in a railroad panic, and 

once more we made our way to the coast, my 

father having been appointed Governor of 

[132] 



BLACK POINT AND WAR DAYS 

the Territory of Arizona, and our lines cast 
in Prescott for some years. 

We went over the Union Pacific Eailroad, 
the first time an ^' Iron Horse '' had ever 
taken us on the overland trip. Seated di- 
rectly behind my father during that journey, 
was a New York banker who continually 
complained of the discomforts of the trip, as 
well as of the time it consumed, the trip then 
being made in seven days. My father, after 
listening to the New Yorker, turned to my 
mother and said: 

*^ It required a great deal more than seven 
days to make this trip in my time, and a 
great part of it was made on foot. There 
were also a few discomforts along the line of 
march — hunger, for instance, and cold! '^ 

We smiled at the contrast, and were thank- 
ful indeed to cover the journey in what 
seemed so short a time to us. 



[133] 



FEOM YUMA TO PEESCOTT IN ARMY 
AMBULANCES 

WHEN President Hayes appointed my 
father Governor of the Territory of 
Arizona, we were living in New York, and in 
order to reach Prescott the family was 
obliged to go first across the country to San 
Francisco, and thence continue the trip to 
Arizona. The tiresome delays and personal 
discomforts of the trip can scarcely be real- 
ized by the people of the Great Today, who 
cross the country almost on the wings of the 
air, and to whom the thought of a trip from 
the coast to Arizona seems scarcely worthy 
of more than passing mention. In 1878, how- 
ever, it took seven days to make the journey 
from New York to San Francisco, and that 
was considered pretty fast traveling, and 
rather luxurious, too. 

It was in September, 1878, when we 
started from San Francisco to what seemed 
almost like an undiscovered country, and the 
trip was filled with many misgivings. The 
route from San Francisco to Los Angeles 
was over the Southern Pacific, along the San 
[135] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

Joaquin Valley, tlie coast line then un- 
dreamed of and not even considered in the 
light of a possibility. 

Alexis Grodey, who had entered California 
with my father, accompanied us as far as 
Los Angeles. When nearing that city, we 
were met by General Sherman, who was re- 
turning from an inspection tour through 
New Mexico and Arizona, by way of Pres- 
cott, and in his own brusque fashion, he gave 
us the encouraging news that the roads to 
Prescott were vile, and well nigh impassable. 

I remember well that General Sherman 
and father heM such a lengthy conversation 
that several times the conductor of the Sher- 
man train urged the general to hurry. 
Finally, nettled at the repeated commands to 
join his train, Sherman replied: 

'* Don't be in a hurry; this is only a single 
track, and, anyway, had it not been for the 
men of the army, you would never have had a 
California in which to build your railroad ! ' * 

The engineering triumphs and the beautiful 
scenery of Tahatchpi Pass engrossed our at- 
tention and kept us in a reminiscent mood 
until we reached Los Angeles. There father 
was serenaded by the citizens, and we passed 
the day with Mrs. Severance of Boston, an 
old time friend, and true. 
[136] 



FEOM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN AEMY AMBULANCES 

While at Los Angeles, Mr. and Mrs. Otis 
of Santa Barbara came to meet us and that 
trip so short now was one of importance in 
that day. Mrs. Otis was anxious to hear the 
latest word concerning her brother, son of 
Dr. Morton of ether fame, who was then only 
a young physician, but who soon won and 
retained his place as one of New York's most 
noted neurologists. 

While Santa Barbara seemed so far away, 
my brother Frank met in Los Angeles some 
school friends from Dresden, illustrating the 
fact that after all, the world is not so very 
large, nor can distance keep friends apart. 

While at Los Angeles, we went up on Fort 
Hill and viewed the emplacement and slight 
remains of the demi-lune battery thrown up 
there to command the then little pueblo of 
Los Angeles nestled below it; we looked at 
the Church of Our Lady of the Angels and 
lived over again in retrospect, the days when 
father was Military Governor of Los An- 
geles. 

A few years ago I stood in the same spot, 
where in commemoration of the old fort and 
its defenders, the patriotic women of Los 
Angeles raised the flag that now gives its 
folds to the breeze each day from the tall 
staff at the head of Broadway, above the en- 
trance to the tunnel. A nephew of Kit Car- 
[137] 



FROM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN ARMY AMBULANCES 

son and myself, for our names ^ sake, were 
asked to run up the flag, which we were 
proud to do in memory of Auld Lang Syne. 
The flag was large and the staff tall, so Mr. 
Carson did most of the pulling, though I con- 
fess that I did my best at the halliards. 

On the platform that day were seated Mr. 
Moore of Carpentaria and his daughter, of 
the family of Captain Moore, for whom the 
fort was named, a gallant officer who lost his 
life in the struggle to take California. After 
the ceremonies were concluded, we stood 
around in groups talking of other days, when 
a gentleman came forward and presented 
me with a bit of the original flagstaff; he 
happened to be on the hill when it was un- 
earthed as the street line was straightened, 
and he preserved two pieces, one for an old 
Gr. A. E. friend and the other for my mother. 
My mother was ill at the time, so after her 
death, he gave me the precious bit of wood. 

But to return to the Los Angeles of 1878. 
We left the city on a palace car, and the trip 
was enlivened by the presence of a diverting 
army bride, who was gayly on her way to 
join her cadet husband at Yuma — and the 
way was so pleasant to her in the joy of her 
heart, that just the sight of her made it 
pleasant for all of us. 

An aunt of mine seeking to lighten the 
[138] 



FROM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN ARMY AMBULANCES 

burden of life in the new country, induced a 
Chinese cook whom she had in her family for 
seven years, to accompany us to Prescott. 
The Chinese was traveling in the coach 
ahead, without a railroad ticket, and when 
asked for his fare replied: 

^' Me alla-same General Fremont.'^ 

This amused my father, and when the con- 
ductor repeated the remark to him, he gave 
him the transportation and assured him that 
the Chinese really was " alla-same Fre- 
mont.'' My aunt's generous sacrifice in 
relinquishing her good Chinaman was a 
priceless boon to us during those three years 
in Arizona. Amid all the discomforts we 
experienced he proved always calm, reli- 
able, uncomplaining, equal to all emergen- 
cies. 

At Colton we stopped for lunch, the lunch- 
room well managed by an English woman 
who was then grieving over the loss of her 
husband. We had met so many widows in 
the wild west, who did not seem to mind the 
fact that they were widowed, that paradox- 
ical as it may seem, we really felt relieved to 
meet one widow who sincerely mourned the 
loss of her helpmate. 

We reached Yuma at last, and bade goodbye 
to parlor cars and railroads, and started out 
for the rest of the journey in real pioneer 
[139] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

fashion. Major Lord, U. S. A., met us at 
Yuma, with army ambulances. The post 
quarters consisted of a fine adobe house, with 
rinconara fireplaces and meat safe beds. 
The fireplaces were built in the corners of 
the house, because they threw out more heat 
when built in that fashion, and the beds were 
slipped in frames which resembled cages, 
covered with wire net to protect the occu- 
pants from scorpions and other unwelcome 
denizens of the plains. 

Here we saw the first green Bermuda 
grass, with plenty of cottonwood and castor 
trees nearby, for the post stood on a bluff 
overlooking the Colorado Eiver, affording a 
delightful view of the bottom land below. 

When we started from Yuma, three am- 
bulances were necessary to transport the 
party, each ambulance drawn by six good 
mules, in fine condition, and in charge 
of experienced drivers. Father, mother and 
myself rode in the first ambulance, and as the 
procession left Yuma we could see the In- 
dians in their picturesque coats and long red 
sashes, with legs bare, eye the wonderful 
procession with much the same delight that 
the small boy of to-day views a circus parade. 

When we came to the Gila Eiver the water 
was very high, reaching above the hubs of 
the ambulances. The mules made a pretty 
[140] 



FROM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN AEMY AMBULANCES 

picture, as with head and necks and ears 
erect, they made their way across, truly a 
study in dark brown and an eloquent illustra- 
tion of the fact that '' blood will tell '' even 
in mules. 

For a day we crossed river bottom lands, 
with nothing but tall cactus plants to break 
the monotony of the scene. We saw a steam- 
boat with ^^ hoppers " on it — a sight no 
longer to be seen in this day. The *^ hop- 
pers *' consisted of two long stout poles 
fastened to either side of the boat, used to 
help the craft across the sand bars, and 
used in those days on all boats that plied the 
shallow rivers. 

At Castle Dome Landing we pitched our 
tents, on the bank of the Colorado Eiver, 
with the adobe houses nearby standing out 
as if in bas-relief. The Castle Dome Mine, 
eighteen miles away, knew the hardships of 
the pioneer, all the water for the mine being 
taken up the long eighteen miles in the wa- 
gons which brought down the ore. 

Our tent became an improvised military 
camp, and while it was being prepared, 
mother and myself spent the time at the 
adobe house of the superintendent of the 
mine. The floor was of earth, with cactus 
wattled roofs, and a large 011a filled with 
cool water — that boon to the traveler — be- 
[141] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

spoke the hospitality of the crude house. 
Hanging against a roof post was a pair of 
opera glasses, a real sign of civilization to 
me, and against another post, around which a 
writing table was built, was suspended a 
tiny slipper, which served as a watch-pocket. 
The slipper was so delicately fashioned that 
it might well be termed the fabled property 
of Cinderella, and when the owner of the 
house was questioned concerning it, he re- 
plied : 

'^ Yes, it is a dainty slipper; but I would 
not bring the owner here — not until better 
quarters are prepared! " 

And so, ever the route of travel was 
brightened by a touch of romance-illumined 
pages as it were, of the Book of Love, en- 
shrined in honest hearts on the desert wilds. 

Early in the evening we found the softest 
places in the sand and there spread our 
blankets. Mother slept on the ambulance 
cushions, as became her custom, and thus 
enjoyed the one luxury of the trip. Father 
and the men slept outside the tent which 
was reserved for mother and me. Dust 
storms were all too frequent, which, coupled 
with the hard beds, added no peace to the 
rest. 

On September 30, the day we left Castle 
Dome, Captain Woodruff met us on his way 
[142] 



FROM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN ARMY AMBXJX.ANOES 

to Yiima, and the echo of his exultant cry: 
*^ New York for two years/' is still ringing 
in my ears. What it meant to him only the 
pioneer who has broken his crust of bread 
amidst hardships and privations can know. 

We left the camp, driving along dry beds 
of stony creeks, with bits of jimson weed in 
blossom scattered here and there, as if to 
cheer the lonely way. In the distance, we 
saw a queer shape that resembled a big yucca 
tree, and we were divided in our opinion as 
to whether the curious shape was a tree or 
a man. Coming closer, we saw it was a hu- 
man form, a traveler with a pack on his back, 
which gave him the curious appearance of 
the yucca tree. 

Mother offered a drink of water to the 
man, who was a miner making his way 
across the country, and we learned that his 
canteen was empty, though it was twelve 
long miles to the nearest spring. 

^* I have done too much walking in my 
day, ' ' said my father, ^ ^ to let that man walk. 
I will give the man a lift if McGrath (the 
head teamster, who had charge of the cara- 
van) can fit him in with the other men.'' 

So we took the traveler with us for the 

day, but before nightfall decided to carry 

him through to Prescott, a distance of about 

two hundred miles. The man made himself 

[143] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

useful by helping the camp cook and I am 
sure that he never forgot the friendly lift 
that caught up with him amid the cactus 
and enabled him to make the remainder of 
his journey in such comfort. The road was 
very rough, interspersed with arroyas, dry 
at that season, winding in and out of stony 
hills to the canyon, and the wagons creaked 
and groaned as we slowly jolted on our way. 
The third night out we camped at Horse 
Tanks where cactus and stones were plenti- 
ful, but where there was scarcely sufficient 
brushwood for the camp fires. There was 
plenty of water, however, the place taking its 
name from three basins of graded size, which 
were hollowed by natural forces out of the 
natural rocks. The size of the basins varied 
from that of the ordinary cistern so common 
in those days, to that of a large bath tub. 
These basins caught the watershed from the 
adjacent hills, and as they never went dry 
they must also have had springs which the 
Americans had not then discovered. Well 
worn Indian trails showed plainly through 
the hills, showing that the red men knew 
where to find the never failing fountain. We 
saw only one lone Indian, however, and when 
night came we picked away the largest stones 
from under our blankets and went to sleep. 
During the night our dog Thaw, came tear- 
[144] 



FKOM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN AEMY AMBULANCES 

ing into the tent howling with pain, his body- 
covered with cactus needles. It was evident 
that he had chased a rabbit and was foolish 
enough to follow the fleet-footed animal into 
the cactus brush. 

We left Horse Tanks at daybreak, and 
passed through a country dotted with yellow 
flowers resembling seaweed, and when we 
reached a place with the elegant title of 
^' Water Hole,'' we watered the eighteen 
mules. The remains of an adobe house and 
an Indian village lent a sort of weirdness to 
the scene, and a buckboard on the way to 
Yuma, was the only sign of life that crossed 
our path. It was a decidedly wild country, 
and yet we pitched our tents and went to 
sleep without even the thought of having a 
guard. 

The next stop was Tyson's well, where 
there was a neat and commodious adobe 
house with a well forty-five feet deep. Here 
we saw a picket fence and grape vines run- 
ning around a typical German home, and 
only those who have viewed the desert can 
imagine what a welcome sign those emblems 
of civilization were to the travelers. 

From Tyson's Well to Desert Station, our 

next stop, there was a splendid naturally 

macadamized road of black altered rock, and 

when we reached Desert Station we pitched 

[145] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

our tents on clean sand. The small bushes 
near by, somehow made us think of Bar 
Harbor, and we sat until far into the night 
under the glorious stars and beautiful 
moonlight, talking of Bar Harbor and dis- 
cussing the merits of an eastern publisher 
who had published some volumes of my 
grandfather's. The station master at the 
place announced that they kept no liquors: 
'* The place is too lonesome for drinking," 
he said, which sentence eloquently described 
the situation. 

We had breakfast by starlight, and Venus 
was regal in her beauty at dawn. Through 
the island-like Black Eock Hills we went our 
way until we reached Mesquit Station, where 
there were plenty of Mexicans and where we 
found the best water of the entire route, 
with a tidy Mexican woman in charge of the 
adobe house of the burg. The weather was 
very hot, and even the beautiful blue black 
butterflies seemed to be affected by the in- 
tense heat. 

Fly's Station, the next stop, was dotted 
with flowers very much resembling the Cali- 
fornia poppies only they were so much 
smaller, and we gathered a bunch of them, in 
memory of Dr. Morton, our dear friend so 
many miles away who had told us of a simi- 
lar flower growing near the diamond fields of 
[146] 




CQ 



FROM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN AEMT AMBULANCES 

Kimberley, South Africa. A frugal lunch of 
bread and cheese and we were on the way to 
Currants Station, where we camped for the 
night. The road house was kept by a Mexi- 
can widow whose English husband had re- 
cently died leaving three children, the young- 
est, a tiny baby that was peacefully sleeping 
in a rude basket cradle which was swung 
from the ceiling of the Ocatia rafters to keep 
the child safe from the poisonous insects with 
which the place abounded. 

The house was a large adobe with plank 
floors in the living rooms and an earthen floor 
in the wide hall, which ran straight through 
the house into the corral, offering shelter 
for the wagons and protecting them from the 
drying heat of the sun. Seven freight teams, 
each drawn by twelve mules, passed by and 
we also encountered a stage coach filled with 
passengers and carrying the Star Eoute 
Mail. 

We pitched our tents back of the corral, 
where there was a little grass, even though 
it was filled with sand. The sunset was 
glorious, and we watched the purples fade 
into blues, and the crimson colors finally en- 
velop all, while the trees were laden with 
sweet scented white blossoms, which helped 
to carry us back to the scenes and dreams of 
other days. 

[147] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

Date Creek Station, our next stop, stands 
out like a mile-post on that eventful journey, 
for lo, it was there that my brother Frank 
killed a hare, and great was his joy there- 
at. The yellow flowers and wind-swept bushes 
somehow gave the place a beach-like ap- 
pearance, and a falcon hawk watched us from 
the summit of a rock for at least twenty min- 
utes, a picture of natural beauty. 

We drove out of the plains and into the 
valleys, the mountain side covered with 
flowers, pale blue and scarlet, with the dainty 
Eocky Mountain flowers in riotous profusion. 

Kelsey Station was the next camping spot, 
a beautiful grass country with the mountain 
silhouetted against the sky as if in a great 
white blaze. Here we met a woman, care- 
worn and weary, whose husband kept the 
station ; they had moved from Nevada to Illi- 
nois, from there to Nebraska, thence to Col- 
orado, California and finally, Arizona. 

'* I am 'most beat out from moving, '^ de- 
clared the woman, whose husband was like- 
wise the Justice of the Peace of the place, and 
from whom my father took the oath of office 
as Governor of the Territory of Arizona. 

Governor Hoyt met us at this place to talk 
over with my father the affairs of the terri- 
tory. He asked my father to issue a procla- 
mation about the approaching election, which 
[148] 



FROM YUMA TO PRESCOTT IN ARMY AMBULANCES 

he did, thereby relieving Governor Hoyt of 
some tangle which he did not care to assume. 

This matter settled, Hoyt immediately re- 
turned to Prescott, while we continued the 
journey in the usual leisurely fashion, and 
leaving this place we had our first glimpse of 
a pretty farm house, the farm irrigated by a 
friendly creek. The prosperous appearance 
of the place was emphasized by its lonely 
situation. 

We were nearing civilization even in those 
days, and at Skull Valley there were plenty 
of good farms and farm houses. The place 
took its weird name from the fact that it 
was the last place where the Indians and 
whites met in deadly combat, the Indians 
piling the skulls of the vanquished whites in 
mounds along the way, as if to mark their 
conquest. 

The Indian custom of course, is to carry 
away their own dead from the field of battle, 
and give them Indian burial, while the whites 
are left to the mercy of the elements. The 
fact that years after the battle when only 
the skulls of the white men were left to dot 
the plains, the Indians returned to pile them 
in tiers, that all ^* who ran might read,'' 
illustrates full well the theory that an Indian 
never forgets. 

The first pretty grass of the trip peeped 
[149] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

up from the ground at Dixon's Farm House, 
and thence we drove through a forest of 
pines and began the steep climb up the moun- 
tain. Conservation was then in the mind of 
my father, for he warned the party to be 
careful lest they start a forest fire. 

At Iron Spring there were many teams 
and a number of cattle, while the pines and 
granite boulders resembled the White Moun- 
tains of New Hampshire. We were then 
about six thousand feet above the level of the 
sea, and one of the mountains looking for all 
the world like a lion with two paws extended, 
boasted of no better name than *' Thumb 
Butte." We enjoyed a splendid view of the 
mountain, though the effect of the woodman's 
axe was all too evident in the forest. 

Two miles outside Prescott, Governor 
Hoyt and the Territorial Secretary, with 
other officials and their wives met us, and in 
the only barouche of the town, my father and 
Governor Hoyt rode into Prescott. Mrs. 
Hoyt took a seat in our ambulance, and we 
followed the triumphal procession — the end 
of the journey reached at last ! 

In the welcoming party there was one 
beautiful woman who wore a bewitching leg- 
horn hat trimmed with dark red silk and 
bunches of nodding poppies, and when we 
had the first glimpse of her in the distance, 
[150] 



FBOM YUMA TO PKESCOTT IN ABMY AMBULANCES 

father remarked that he hoped all the women 
of Prescott were as pretty! 

When we reached Prescott, Mr. and Mrs. 
T. Fitch, with the freehanded hospitality of 
the far west, turned their house over to us 
until we could find one for ourselves. During 
that time, the Fitch family camped in the law 
office of Mr. Fitch, though the family shared 
the meals with us at their home. There was 
no hotel in the Prescott of those days, and 
our stay might have been hard while secur- 
ing a house were it not for the generous hos- 
pitality of our hosts. 

We were served a six-course dinner that 
first night in Prescott and were overjoyed at 
finding awaiting us innumerable letters from 
the loved ones at home. For be it on the 
mountain side or in the valley, in the desert 
or on the plains, in sunshine or in storm, 
there is no place like home, and nothing else 
in this great wide world quite so dear to the 
heart of the wanderer as are those letters 
from home! 



[151] 



THREE YEARS IN PRESCOTT 

SOON after our arrival in Prescott, we 
learned that the leading merchant of the 
town was ^^ going inside," as a trip to the 
coast was called, and was willing to rent his 
house during his absence. We quickly 
availed ourselves of the opportunity and 
during the few weeks while we were house- 
hunting for a permanent abode, we enjoyed 
the luxury of his plastered house. There were 
few plastered houses in those days, cement 
selling for sixteen dollars a barrel and plas- 
terers receiving seven dollars a day for their 
labor. 

Finally, we found a house that was built 
upon a hilltop, its walls made of solid planks 
unadorned, save by a covering of cotton 
sheeting. These plank walls were made from 
the great pine and juniper trees that grew 
on the summit of the surrounding hills — 
trees that were beautiful to look at, but alas, 
that were infested with household pests that 
lived and thrived in the trees there as ants 
do in other states. 

Before we could move into it a thorough 
[153] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

disinfecting was necessary and workmen 
were sent to give the place heroic treatment. 
The cotton sheeting was removed from the 
walls, the planks scoured again and again 
with boiling lye, until finally it was pro- 
nounced habitable. This scouring process 
was continued at intervals during the three 
years we lived in Prescott, and in the end, 
the house was made very comfortable. 

The salary of my father as Governor of 
the Territory of Arizona, was two thousand 
dollars per year; the house rent was ninety 
dollars per month, and our Chinese cook was 
paid forty dollars a month for his services, 
so that there was little left for luxuries. The 
keeping of horses was an impossibility on 
that salary, hay selling for fifty dollars a 
ton, and yet the people of to-day are wont to 
complain now and then of high rents and the 
increased cost of living ! 

The army post near by could have all the 
wood it could use at three dollars per cord, 
tomatoes for twelve cents a can and sugar 
for twelve cents a pound. But the people in 
the village were compelled to pay nine dollars 
and fifty cents a cord for the same wood, 
twenty-five cents a can for the tomatoes and 
thirty cents a pound for the sugar. So that 
Uncle Sam had considerably the best of the 
[154] 



THBEE YEABS IN PBESCOTT 

bargain, as far as the villagers were con- 
cerned, our family included among the latter. 

Prescott contained between eighteen hun- 
dred and two thousand people, and the social 
side of life was not at all unpleasant. The 
women were sociable, the army people were 
always on friendly terms with the villagers, 
and private theatricals were frequently 
given. There was considerable musical and 
dramatic talent in the village and many af- 
fairs were given for charity. The best vio- 
linist of the place, as I remember him, kept 
a faro bank when not entertaining the people 
with his music. I heard a much traveled 
easterner say not many years ago, that he 
never saw a better production of Pinafore 
than in Prescott in those days, the opera 
being produced by local talent. 

There were many interesting people 
among the pioneers, and one of them remains 
a friend to this day. Her life story is typical 
with many others of that time who ventured 
far into the wilds in search of an illusive 
and alluring fortune that ever kept just a 
little ahead, as if to tempt the wanderer still 
farther into the realms of an undiscovered 
country. 

The lady to whom I refer crossed the 
plains with her brother when she was about 
[155] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

fifteen years of age. A young Indian chief 
rode beside their caravan for about three 
weeks of the long journey and so smitten was 
he with the charms of the pale faced maiden 
that he offered many valuable ponies for her, 
and seemed quite piqued that his offer of 
trade was spurned by her brother. 

Later in life this woman came upon an 
experience spared to most women. With her 
young baby, she was traveling from Fort 
Mojave to Prescott, at a time when the coun- 
try was so wild that life trembled in the bal- 
ance, as does an insecure leaf upon a tree. 
As the mother and child were ready to leave 
the fort, the brave woman learned that three 
men had been killed on the stage coming into 
the fort from Prescott, and it was more than 
a week before the stage driver would venture 
out on the return trip, hoping that in the 
interval the country would be cleared of the 
blood-thirsty savages who were roaming in 
such great numbers over the plains. The 
stage was so bloody with the e^ddence of the 
murders on the incoming trip, and the driver 
found it so impossible to wash away the 
stains of the life blood of his three passen- 
gers that he covered the stage with a piece of 
cotton cloth. The bit of white was a sign 
familiar to every pioneer, and all too well the 
[156] 



THKEE YEARS IN PRESCOTT 

young mother knew the tragedy that its pres- 
ence implied. 

This woman, however, finally reached the 
stage where she conld afford to boast of a 
plastered house in Prescott, around which 
were planted hardy trees and bushes. She 
evolved an ingenious way of keeping the 
bushes alive in that dry country by planting 
beside each bush a five gallon can pierced 
with holes and filling these cans with water 
each day. The tiny holes permitted the 
water to leak slowly through to the shrubs, 
and thus they were kept alive, even though 
the growth was none too luxuriant. 

During the two rainy seasons of the year, 
the most beautiful wild flowers imaginable 
were plentiful at Prescott, great masses of 
the wild blooms dotting the hillsides. When 
the wild flowers were not in bloom, mother 
and I kept the house supplied with flowers 
by sawing off the cactus blooms of yellow and 
dark red, and burying them in a platter 
which was filled with sand. We used the top 
of a tin can for a saw in gathering the 
blooms, and thus spared our hands from the 
scratches of the cactus. 

The sunsets were the most gorgeous that 
I have ever seen beneath the wide heavens. 
With the sinking of sun the heat van- 
[157] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

ished into thin air, and we felt the chill of the 
night air even though protected with warm 
shawls. The lunar rainbows were likewise 
most wonderful to behold, and so nature 
seemed to assume her most gracious aspect, 
as if to make amends for the hardships of 
the frontier life. 

For the three years that we lived there, I 
knew that the wonders of the Grand Canyon 
were near at hand, but a hard fate made it 
a financial impossibility to more than know 
that the gorgeous canyon was at the very 
door. I could see the San Francisco moun- 
tains from the hilltops, and learned to look 
upon the three peaks as one would look upon 
dear but absent friends, and the mountains 
seemed to nod a friendly message over the 
broad horizon. 

When my father issued the first Thanks- 
giving Day proclamation in the Territory, 
we were surprised to find that it had not been 
the custom to observe the day. I like to think 
that it was our expressions of astonishment 
in the matter that helped to bring about its 
observance the following years. 

There were no churches when we first went 
to Prescott, but before we left there the Cath- 
olic and Methodist churches had been estab- 
lished. 

[158] 



THREE YEARS IN PRESCOTT 

One of the residents whom I shall always 
remember was Father Desjardins, the 
French cure of the town. I was the only per- 
son there who could converse with him in his 
native tongue, and he spent many pleasant 
hours at our home happy to hear the sound 
of his own language, while the townspeople 
were busy with the rumor that I was being 
converted to Catholicism. 

The young cure had his own troubles in 
the town. 

^' My people think I am extravagant,^^ he 
once confided to me, ^' because I keep an 
open fire. The light from the fire saves 
oil,'' he added, ^^ and the fire-light pictures 
at eventide, at least remind me of home — 
and it is murderously lonesome here." 

Sentiments that I could almost endorse, 
at times. 

During our stay there the sisters of St. 
Joseph came from St. Louis to establish a 
hospital, and as my mother had known them 
in their home city, she lent them every 
possible aid in the work. 

In war days, members of that same order 
of nuns had been sworn in as army nurses 
(at the suggestion of my mother) and they 
served during the long years of that war. 
My father allotted them a large new hospital 
[159] 



THEEE YEAES IN PBESCOTT 

building that had recently been erected in St. 
Louis, and the story of their tender devotion 
to the sick and dying soldiers preceded them 
to Prescott. 

The heat was so intense and the clothing 
of the nuns so heavy, that my mother per- 
suaded the bishop to obtain permission for 
the nuns, from the Mother House at St. 
Louis, to wear cooler clothing; and thus the 
order was issued that the nuns on duty in 
that sultry country should wear thinner veils 
and dresses than did the sisters elsewhere, 
an order which is still in force. 

Mother John and Mother Monica were the 
two nuns first sent to establish the Prescott 
hospital, and though the latter was a frail 
woman in mortal terror of a mule, when 
duty made it necessary, she cheerfully 
mounted one of the little animals and rode 
through the mines soliciting aid for the pro- 
posed work. 

Mother John died while we were there — 
worked to death the death certificate should 
have read — and her funeral has not a par- 
allel perhaps in the history of that country. 

There were no hearses in the town, and so 
the top was removed from an army ambu- 
lance, and with General Wilcox and my young 
brother Frank representing my father, as 
[160] 



THBEE YEARS IN PRESCOTT 

leading pallbearers, the mournful funeral 
procession wended its way to the lonely- 
graveyard over the hillside, where a rude 
grave was made and loving hands covered 
it with wild flowers and blooming cactus, 
though the gentle nun died so far away from 
her own home. 

My mother took a great interest in the 
public school and one day happened in when 
the history class was in session. She heard 
the old, old libel against Marie Antoinette, 
in which the queen is charged with replying, 
when told that her people were starving: 

^* Haven't they even a cake? '' 

My mother explained the meaning of this 
answer to the children, gave them a bet- 
ter idea of the libeled queen, and they were 
so interested in her tale that within a few 
days a committee called upon her and asked 
her to give the history class a talk every 
Friday during the school year, a task which 
she readily imposed upon herself and which 
she continued for ten months. 

Miss Lucy Sherman was then the teacher 
of that school and her brother being the gen- 
eral superintendent of public instruction, ap- 
pointed by my father. Miss Sherman, now 
Mrs. E. P. Cark of Los Angeles, has ever 
cherished the memory of her volunteer assist- 
ant of those days, and the friendship that 
[161] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FEEMONT 

grew up between us has ripened witli the 
years, and to-day Mrs. Clark and her gra- 
cious young daughters always make me wel- 
come in their beautiful home in this garden 
spot of California. 

Two legislatures convened during our stay 
in Prescott and enacted many laws, each suc- 
ceeding legislature, however, so amending 
them that the original laws were of no avail 
— as legislative bodies have a way of doing, 
even to-day ! 

Before our first year in the town drew to 
an end, the health of my mother was so ser- 
iously affected by the high altitude that she 
was sent home to New York. She soon re- 
covered her old-time strength, though she 
never again ventured into Prescott, or into 
any other high altitude. 

The Hualapi Indians roamed over the 
plains nearby, and were always a friendly 
tribe. Many a time that tribe helped Gen- 
eral Crook chase the treacherous Apaches, 
the Hualapis trailing them, while the Ameri- 
can troops followed. 

The friendly tribe has all but vanished 
now, not more than twenty or thirty of that 
fearless band remaining. Their very friend- 
liness worked their own undoing. Since they 
were no trouble to the government, the 
government left them severely alone. The 
[162] 



THREE YEARS IN PRESCOTT 

tribe did not want a reservation, merely the 
privilege to hunt wild game in the mountains, 
and gather the seeds upon which they lived. 
They wanted the springs too, but gradually 
the whites took possession of them and 
trampled under their feet the luckless tribe. 
The cattle drove the wild game away from 
the mountains, and the whites claimed the 
water rights, one after another, until only 
desolation was left for the Hualapis. 

At Peach Tree Springs, on the Santa Fe, 
lived the Supais, another peaceful tribe. 
Their reservation was in the heart of Peach 
Tree Canyon, close to the Grand Canyon of 
Arizona, and the tribe still own the place. 
They raise fresh vegetables and fruit, the 
oldest peach trees of our countryside grow- 
ing there, planted long ago by the Spanish 
padres. 

The place is noted also for its fine springs 
and the value of the spot tempted the whites 
many years ago. My father warned Carl 
Schurz then Secretary of the Interior, that 
unless the government interfered, the re- 
servation would be wiped out — Uncle Sam 
interfered and the Supais fared better than 
did the mournful Hualapis. 

Two years after my mother left Prescott, 
the state capital was dancing on wheels and 
rumor had it that it would be removed to 
[163] 



EBCOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

Tucson. My father had suffered with the 
mountain fever at Prescott and seeking a 
change of climate as well as desirous of know- 
ing the country, he decided to move to Tucson 
and thither we went, pitching our tents like 
the Arab of old, hopeful for the new country 
and feverishly anxious to see the desert blos- 
som like the rose. 



[164] 



THE YEAR AT TUCSON 

T T was in March, 1881, when we left Prescott 
-■• for Tucson and began again, as it were, a 
new life. I had grown to like Prescott and 
was particularly fond of its people, the 
women having been so warm hearted and 
hospitable that it was not so very hard to 
forget that I was many weary miles away 
from my home part of the country. 

Tucson was about three thousand feet 
lower than Prescott, and perhaps was then 
one of the oldest as well as one of the most 
unsanitary towns in America. The heavy 
summer rains drew the poison out of the sun 
dried soil, until even the seasoned Americans 
fell by the wayside, as flowers fall after a 
blighting storm. 

*^ You will die of the fever in Tucson,'* I 
was told when first I mentioned the plans to 
move there, a prophecy which came near be- 
ing fulfilled. There was but one ** vegetable 
man '* in Prescott in those days who had as- 
paragus for sale — a vegetable of which I was 
very fond — and when he learned that we 
were to leave for other parts, he resolutely 
[165] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

refused to longer supply our table. Trades- 
men were not so keen after the trade as they 
are to-day for there was practically no com- 
petition — absolutely none as far as our 
* ' vegetable man ' ' was concerned ; and so, to 
all our entreaties we received the one cold 
reply: 

*^ Nothing to sell to you. You are going to 
leave Prescott." 

So while I watched our neighbors receive 
supplies of the luscious asparagus, I could at 
least console myself with the thought that the 
family would soon be deprived of such things 
anyway, and were only being forced to an 
earlier acquaintance with the hardship. 

The time at Tucson was filled to overflow- 
ing with excitement, one thing succeeding an- 
other with lightning like rapidity, though 
one experience in that town — the blowing up 
of a powder magazine — almost defies de- 
scription. 

The magazine was situated about a mile 
from town and at the time of the explosion 
I was the only member of the family at Tuc- 
son, with our faithful Chinese cook and a 
maid of all work for my companions. 

The great comet of that year had filled the 

hearts of both whites and Mexicans with fear 

and dread, even though the scenic effect in 

the heavens was beautiful to behold. Most 

[166] 



THE YEAB AT TUCSON 

of the people slept on what might be termed 
the sidewalks, and in going to post letters on 
the Overland Mail, I often passed the rows of 
sleepers, in company with onr dog Thaw. 

The night of the blowing up of the powder 
magazine, the walks were lined with the 
sleeping populace. I slept in the corral 
back of our home, its high walls giving it the 
seclusion of a private boudoir, and the maid 
shared this '* apartment '' with me. A sec- 
ond before the explosion I was wide awake. 
Above were the shining stars, the comet in 
its almost supernatural beauty, clear skies 
and an almost living illustration of ** Peace 
on earth, Good will to men," when lo, with a 
roar like unto that of a hundred thousand 
cannons, the town was instantly covered in 
darkness. The heavens were obscured by an 
inky pall, which hung not more than ten feet 
above the people. The soil became covered 
with a black mist resembling burnt flour and 
as the glory of the stars was blotted out, the 
night was filled with the piercing screams of 
a terrified multitude. Men and women fell in- 
stinctively on their knees, beseeching mercy 
from the Father of all, while here and there 
could be heard the rushing footsteps of flee- 
ing people — fleeing, they knew not from 
what or whence! 

Viewed in retrospect, the sight was won- 
[167] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

derful to behold! The earth blown heaven- 
ward, fell again like a black snow, covering 
the ground like a harbinger of death. People 
forgot abont the scorpions and were rushing 
barefooted hither and thither, feeling in the 
blackness of the night for friends, and 
anxious to make peace with foes! 

Ten minutes, which seemed like an hour, 
of unspeakable terror reigned, before the 
townspeople learned what had caused the 
trouble, and were assured that the end of 
the world was not at hand. 

** The powder magazine has blown up,*' 
cried out the carrier of the joyous news, for 
it was joyous news indeed to know that it was 
only a terrific explosion, with no loss of life, 
and not the weird farewell of the beautiful 
comet. 

Where the magazine had been two minutes 
before the explosion, there was a great hole 
in the earth, as if a hundred monsters had 
mowed to the bottom crust, and there was 
not a trace of a wall left to show that an 
adobe had once been there. 

The earth, blown up with such tremendous 
force, floated through the town, covering 
everything and everybody as it wended its 
inky way. The housewifes were kept busy 
for weeks cleaning the humble adobes after 
[168] 



THE YEAR AT TUCSON 

the unwelcome visitor of the night^ — the 
* * black snow, ' ' as the people called it. 

The tense moments of terror were relieved 
later by hours of almost hysterical laughter. 
I remember well that scarcely anyone could 
be found who was willing to admit that the 
sight and sound of the night had frightened 
him. 

** Oh, I was not a bit afraid, I knew it 
wasn't the comet, but you ought to have seen 
John. He was a picture of fear ! ' ' 

Then the laugh would go round, while John 
explained that he was not afraid — it was Jill 
who trembled and whose teeth chattered in 
the very agony of terror. 

The house we occupied at Tucson was no- 
ticeable mainly for its very long rooms, and 
it contained a ** sacred parlor, '^ as I used to 
call it, because the owners of the house never 
thought of using what was their best room. 

The hallway was really the living room. 
The door was left open all night but closed 
during the day, in order to keep the room in 
habitable condition. It was known as a cool 
room — exceptionally cool — so cool in fact, 
that its thermometer never registered much 
higher than 97 or 100 degrees in the coolest 
part of the day, when the hall was thought to 
be delightfully cool. Towards evening, it 
[169] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

was like a bake oven and had to be aban- 
doned for the corral behind the house. 

I can remember iising the ^* sacred par- 
lor '^ just once during my stay at Tucson. 
Archbishop Salpointe came to pay a little 
visit and I ushered him into the best room in 
the house. The piano was there and a Prus- 
sian soldier from Fort Lowell, who happened 
to be a fine musician, was in the room tuning 
the instrument. Soon we were joined by two 
nuns from the nearby hospital, and we were 
deeply interested in a tale the Archbishop 
was telling us concerning his experience in 
the wilds, when the front door burst open 
and a man, a stranger to me, called out : 

** Miss Fremont, Garfield has been shot 
and is dying! '' 

It was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky 
— almost as terrible as the explosion of my 
previous experience — and we were all par- 
alyzed, as it were, with the shock and the 
fear of the consequences. 

Finally, the tenseness of the situation was 
broken and I looked to where the good nuns 
had been sitting; they were down on their 
knees imploring the Heavenly Father to save 
the President — to spare him to the people! 
There may have been more pretentious me- 
morial meetings held elsewhere, there may 
have been more elaborate offers of kindly 
[170] 



THE YEAR AT TUCSON 

solicitude for the welfare of the man who was 
destined to be a martyr for his country, but 
nowhere on God's green earth was there 
more genuine affection and solicitude dis- 
played for the safety of Garfield than in the 
bowed forms of those gentle nuns, prostrate 
in prayer in that humble adobe on the fringe 
of civilization. 

Scarcely had the excitement over the fate 
of the martyred president died away ere a 
cloudburst came, lest life and living in Tuc- 
son might grow to be monotonous ! The sum- 
mer rains last for six weeks in that town, and 
before the cloudburst, four inches of rain fell 
in less than three-quarters of an hour, quite 
a respectable rain even for Tucson. 

Across the street from our home was an 
adobe house that had been newly painted and 
furnished throughout. I looked that way 
and saw a flood of muddy water running 
through its immaculate interior. The town 
itself was all but submerged, the streets a 
perfect sheet of water. 

Adjoining the ill-fated house of our neigh- 
bor was another adobe to which a bride had 
been brought from New York but two days 
before. As the walls of the adobe cracked 
and ran together again like so much ginger 
bread, a wagon drove up to carry away the 
hysterical bride, so thoroughly frightened 
[171] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

that she was only able to emit a series of 
piercing screams! 

* * Why did I leave my mother, oh, why did 
I leave my mother? " until the air rang with 
the echoes of her wailing. 

The bride was on the shady side of fifty- 
five, and as I listened to her plaintive calls, 
I thought of that other cry : 

^^ I^m o^er young to leave my mother I *' 

Our house was not affected by the water. 
It was built on the higher side of the street, 
and there was a doorway underneath the hall 
made for just such emergencies, with a way 
to let the water out, rather than up and into 
the house. I had a Mexican break open this 
doorway with an axe, the poor fellow 
worked up to his knees in water, and the hun- 
dred foot lot surrounding the place looked 
like a miniature lake after he had finished his 
task. 

Our Chinese was as faithful during that 
cloudburst and as valuable as he had been in 
every emergency which he met with us dur- 
ing our life in the new country. His first 
thought was ever for our safety and welfare, 
and I am glad of an opportunity to say a 
good word for the son of an abused race, for 
after his years of service with our family, 
he merited full well the words : 
[172] 



THE YEAR AT TUCSON 

^' Well done, thoii good and faithful ser- 
vant! " 

The great danger threatened by a cloud- 
burst in Tucson may not be realized by peo- 
ple of to-day until it is known that in those 
days a ton or more of earth was thrown over 
every cactus roof in order to keep the adobes 
cool, and with incessant rain much less than 
with a cloudburst, there was always the dan- 
ger of the roof falling in and the earth smoth- 
ering the occupants of the house. 

After the cloudburst, Tucson was shut off 
from the outside world for fully two weeks, 
no mail coming in and no food supplies, parts 
of the newly made railroad from Yuma to 
Tucson having been washed away in the 
twinkling of an eye. During that time, I kept 
house with no butter, no eggs, very little milk. 
The town depended upon the water from a 
spring which was peddled around from house 
to house. I did manage to obtain some Chi- 
nese sugar and to exist, after a fashion. 

Butter was a luxury which I scarcely ever 
tasted during that time at Tucson; it had to 
be shipped in from California and there were 
then no refrigerator cars. In crossing the des- 
ert the jars of butter were melted into liquid 
oil, and as ice was twenty cents a pound in 
Tucson, only the enormously rich could afford 
to boast always of a plentiful supply. 
[173] 



BECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FBEMONT 

After the excitement of the cloudburst had 
worn away, I was awakened one night by 
the clatter of horses' feet and the pitiful cries 
of a woman: 

^^ He has been bitten by a rattlesnake. For 
God's sake, get a doctor quick,'' the cry filled 
with all the agony of a despairing mother's 
broken heart. 

The mother was hurrying her six-year-old 
son to the Mexican family next door, crying 
for help as she tenderly lifted the little suf- 
ferer out of the rude wagon. She lived on a 
ranch a few miles out of the town, and the 
trip could not be made in the heat of the day, 
hence the wild night ride. 

The little lad had gone to the well bare- 
footed, at sundown, stepped on a rattlesnake 
and was instantly bitten in the heel by the 
poisonous reptile. The mother picked up the 
fatally wounded child, her mother heart tell- 
ing her that he was in the grip of Death. 

As the mother reached our door, a man of 
the town happened to be riding by on horse 
back. Like the wind he was off for a physi- 
cian, but before he had arrived the soul of 
the little one had hearkened to the call of its 
Maker and only the agonized cries of the 
bereft mother broke the silence of the night. 

Tucson filled with the many similar ex- 
periences that will remain with me forever, 
[174] 



THE YEAB AT TUCSON 

brought its own share of suffering to me. 
For weeks, I lingered between life and death, 
fast in the grip of typhoid fever. I had 
reached the point where the physicians told 
me I had better arrange my property affairs 
and make known any wishes I might have in 
regard to my funeral. Cheerful news for a 
sick woman miles removed from kindred, but 
I sent for Judge Charles Silent, now of Los 
Angeles, and did truly make my last will 
and testament. 

That I was near unto death may best be 
understood in the light of an experience of 
that sick room. My maid had been leaving 
a glass of water and a cracker beside my 
hed — real evidences of solicitude in Tucson 
— and the cracker had tempted a rat, when 
it failed to tempt me. One night when alone 
in the room, I felt a hard lump in the back of 
my heavy hair. I tossed from side to side 
in an effort to find a spot free from what I 
thought were tangles, when I found that the 
tangles must be removed before I could rest. 
Accordingly I put my hand in my hair. 
Horrors ! A rat was entangled in its meshes 
and vainly trying to extricate itself. Too ill 
to be mindful of the danger, too ill even to 
feel a pang of fright, I helped the rat free 
himself from the tresses, and fell into a 
dreamless sleep. 

[175] 



KECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

My father at that time was in New York 
working for the territory and for himself, as 
men have a habit of doing now and then. He 
was purchasing arms for Arizona, as the In- 
dians were growing more desperate and de- 
fiant, and at times he was trying to float an 
Arizona copper mine upon which he held a 
six months' option. He tried to convince the 
New York financiers that the '* Jerome " 
copper mine was a fortune maker, but they 
would not listen to him and credited his en- 
thusiasm to his zeal for opening the western 
country. He lost his option and years later 
Senator Clark of Montana obtained the 
** Jerome,'' now known as the Clark mines, 
and the source of perhaps the greatest share 
of the Clark millions. 

Just as I was recovering from the fever, I 
was sitting in the corral back of our house 
when the report came to me that Fort Apache 
nearby had been wiped out and that all the 
officers were killed. All at that fort were 
friends of mine and the news was freighted 
with distress for me. On the morrow, how- 
ever, I learned that the report was exagger- 
ated, and that the officers had successfully 
beaten off the attack, which was picturesque 
in the extreme. 

The old Indian chief led the attack on the 
fort, rode into the corral at Fort Apache 
[176] 



THE YEAK AT TUCSON 

when it was filled with officers and men, and 
threw up his spear, whirling it and catching 
it as it fell — a signal of defiance such as was 
used in the border raids of Scotland. His 
bravery went for naught and the white men 
saved the day against the courageous red 
men of the plains. 

The paper that brough the news of the 
safety of the men at the fort, however, 
brought other dismal news to me, the news 
of the burning of Morell's warehouse in New 
York City. It was the first warehouse built 
in the upper part of the city and the resi- 
dents made a practice of storing their price- 
less treasures there when they left the city. 

When leaving New York we had stored at 
MorelPs, all these belongings that we con- 
sidered too precious to take with us to the 
west — and now all was in flames! 

Small wonder that the fever lingered and 
that I was finally sent home to New York to 
recuperate. In all our household exper- 
iences, my father was the admiral of the 
crew, my mother the captain, and I the exec- 
utive officer — now the domestic ship was to 
be left to steer itself, unofficered, my mother 
having previously been compelled to return 
to New York to regain her health. 

When life is young, however, and the 
warm blood courses through the veins, it is 
[m] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BEISTTON FKEMONT 

not SO easy to die. Tlie world was waiting 
with its arms filled with roses, even though 
Tucson seemed so cold and cheerless and I 
was not averse to staying yet a little while, 
to gather a few of the flowers of life and 
living. When I said good-bye to Tucson and 
started for New York and home, I could hear 
again as though in a happy dream, the cry 
of the fellow traveler at Yuma: 

** New York — ^well, if not for two years, 
then, at least, for a day! " 

My father soon joined us in New York and 
we made our home in that city and in "Wash- 
ington, my father spending the time writing 
his memoirs. From there we went to Point 
Pleasant on the Jersey coast. 



[178] 



FINIS 

WHILE we were living at Point Pleasant 
my father had so severe an attack of 
pneumonia that his physician ordered him to 
Los Angeles. Having but recently returned 
from the baby town of Monrovia, where he 
had recovered from a somewhat similar at- 
tack, the physician was enthusiastic over the 
beneficial qualities of the climate of Southern 
California. 

My father had always planned to return to 
California to make a home for mother and 
myself, ^^ where we might live our lives in 
the delightful climate amidst its beautiful 
scenery,'' as father liked to put it; for he 
believed that the San Gabriel Valley, which 
to him included as in the old California days, 
all of Los Angeles Valley as well, with its 
mountains and sea views and its great oaks, 
was the most beautiful country he had ever 
seen. 

His business would not permit him to leave 

at that time, had not ill health forced his 

hand, and so we came across on the Southern 

Pacific, reaching Los Angeles ia the midst of 

[179] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

a heavy rain Christmas Eve in '87. We 
were met at the Eiver station by onr friend 
Judge Silent and his son and driven through 
slush and mud, over unpaved streets to a 
little hotel on Main Street near the Temple 
Block, where, as a great favor, rooms had 
been secured for us. The city was crowded 
and it was hard to find lodgings. 

Christmas Day dawned, a brilliant winter 
day filled with sunshine and tempered with 
a touch of the delightful sea breeze, a typical 
California winter day. 

We were taken for a long drive, during 
which the palms and contrasting Norfolk Is- 
land pines called forth our admiration 
and our heavy eastern wraps soon became 
oppressive. We stopped at a large house 
bordered with fine pepper and Indian rubber 
trees, the well kept lawns a delight in mid- 
winter and as we gathered up our wraps, 
Judge Silent remarked that we would leave 
them at this house. 

A lovely young girl with rippling golden 
hair and blue eyes came down the steps of 
the house to meet us. She was his daughter 
and her youth completed a picture of a happy 
Los Angeles home — the home of Judge 
Silent, where we had our Christmas dinner. 

A few days later my father and mother 
found quarters in the Marlborough Hotel, 
[180] 



FINIS 

now Mrs. Caswell's Marlborough School for 
Girls but Mrs. Silent kept me for a while in 
her hospitable home. In that same house 
as well as at their delightful mountain ranch, 
the Silents have ever since made me feel as 
much at home as a woman can feel outside of 
her very own place. 

We remained many months at the Marl- 
borough renewing old friendships and form- 
ing new ones. It was hard to find a furnished 
house, but finally we secured the well kept 
home of army friends who were leaving it to 
get closer to the street cars, for Los Angeles 
was still headquarters for the Department 
of Arizona. 

Our first visitor was Mrs. Henry T. Lee 
still living in Los Angeles, who brought my 
mother a great bunch of dark red roses, while 
Mrs. George King brought us a loaf of bread 
of her own baking ; so our first dinner under 
a roof that was ours, though only rented, 
was brightened by the graceful kindness of 
neighboring friends. 

My father had resigned from the army 
when the war was over that he might be free 
to look after his business interests, but in 
1889 his friends were trying to obtain his 
restoration as Major General. This re- 
quired his presence in the east, so he re- 
turned there in the early fall of that year. 
[181] 



EECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FKEMONT 

His friends were successful in their efforts 
and in April of 1890, his appointment was 
confirmed by the Senate, bringing to him 
peace of mind and relief from care. 

He was detained in the east winding up 
all business affairs, and was taken suddenly- 
ill with what would now be called ptomaine 
poisoning and died within two days. 

My eldest brother, the niece we had 
brought up, and our friend Dr. Morton, were 
with him to the end, and they did not tell him 
how very ill he was. Just as he was sinking 
into unconsciousness he spoke of soon leav- 
ing for home. 

** Which home, General? '' asked Dr. Mor- 
ton. 

^^ California, of course," whispered my 
father, and as the words died on his lips, he 
sank into that sleep from which he never 
awakened. My mother and I knew nothing 
of his illness until the news of his death was 
telegraphed to us. My mother was very ill 
for some time afterwards, and one of the 
very hard things to bear in those first days 
following his death was the daily arrival of 
his letters, filled with his plans and hopes for 
the future and for our lives in Los Angeles. 

Friends gathered around us and did all 
that loving sympathy could do to help my 
mother bear her loss. She had known my 
[182] 



FINIS 

father before she was sixteen and their lives 
were as one, to the end. 

Congress very promptly voted a pension to 
my mother which enabled us to continue liv- 
ing in Los Angeles, and the gift of a home to 
her in this city by the women of Los Angeles, 
rendered her life one of peaceful ease amid 
delightful surroundings and dear friends. 
She often said that the climate of California 
was delightful and a daily comfort to her, but 
better far was that atmosphere of affection- 
ate friendship which encompassed her. 

For more than eleven years she lived in 
that dear home, resting in its security and 
peace. The last two years were filled with 
pain, however, she having broken her thigh 
in a fall and being rendered helpless. Though 
those two remaining years of her life were 
spent either in bed or in a rolling chair, she 
was always patient and cheerful, and to the 
last interested in the affairs of her friends 
and in the news of the world at large. 

On Christmas Eve, 1902, she took her part 
in its little gaieties, her faithful nurses and I 
feeling that the end was drawing near, how 
near we did not dream, for she died on De- 
cember 27. 

My father was buried in Eockland Ceme- 
tery within sight of our dear old home on the 
Hudson, where the State of New York has 
[183] 



RECOLLECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BENTON FREMONT 

since erected a monument to his memory, and 
my mother sleeps beside him. 

Last spring my eldest brother John 
Charles Fremont, Eear Admiral U. S. Navy, 
answered the last call, and also rests in that 
far away City of the Dead. 

Dear and true friends closed in about me 
after the death of my mother, and then as 
now, did everything possible to soften the 
loneliness of my life and help me to still be 
useful. Though far from my own people, 
all of them living on the eastern seaboard, I 
do not feel lonely nor isolated, for I know 
that I am surrounded by the same affection- 
ate atmosphere which my mother felt always 
encompassed her. 

In this beautiful California which has 
been dear to me since the days when as a 
child of seven, I first beheld its glory; in the 
I)eaceful happiness of old age, among friends 
dearer still than California, the Indian sum- 
mer of my life is passing. 



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[184] 



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